


In the Wake of Legends

by chirunos



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Adventure, Character Development, Gen, world expansion, world-merging AU universe shenanigans maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chirunos/pseuds/chirunos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The non-existent Smash Brothers WiiU/3DS story mode is here, in the form of a new world-traveling adventure epic for the masses!<br/>CURRENT CHAPTER: Just when Palutena thinks she's closer to solving the mystery, the deal gets unsealed. Fire-emblazoned sword possibly included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Once they'd found out that The Swarm was upon them it was already too late. Determined to fight, the smashers set off on a quest to reclaim their stolen peace and save their homeland once more. Their victory requires that the smashers must strengthen themselves as champions of legends once told—but the evil against them is unlike anything they had ever known, reawakened from the history of their forerunners that had been long lost to time.  
> Their journey unravels secrets meant to be hidden, a past meant to be forgotten—and the first truth the smashers learn is that defeating Subspace was easy, but it had never meant to be the end.
> 
> Thanks to those who are the amazing beta readers for this likely monolith of a work. Beta-ing and/or pointing out mistakes I may have made are SUPER helpful to me, so thank you in advance should you help!  
> That said, it feels a bit daunting to be expanding on something so definite as the subspace emissary story, but... it's also so vague that I'm finding a lot of fun in it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, new readers and old alike!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU.  
> In a loose sense, more like, since I'm heavily drawing from the chronology of Smash games and the world of trophies presented in Subspace Emissary--but still an alternate universe, because everyone here has been born and raised in Smashworld, and Smashworld is not a land without legends and history.
> 
> Also, I may edit chapters for small details often. The more I write this, the more I develop a view of what this universe's "Smashworld" is, how it works, and what kinds of roles its fighters play in it... one day we'll have a final final publication going.

This is but a recollection.

At the unanimous request of this era's  _Roster_ , I have penned this story after weeks and weeks of listening (and re-listening) to the stories of everyone involved.

Some months ago a single drop of evil stained the waters of our peace here in Smashworld, and, through a series of ordeals and toil, we have managed to reclaim what is rightfully ours.

Well... not so much _we._ The journeys are _theirs_. Their hope, their friendship, their strength of will—they've allowed us many more joyful days together.

I have done my best to weave some comprehensive narrative of the aforementioned events, beginning with the morning that would go so wrong. And then, from there, both you and I can only watch as the story unfolds. I shall say nothing more from here. To speak more on this matter might be "messing with the passage of fate," as a dear friend of mine would say.

What you _will_ to do with this after reading is a matter that is yours entirely.

_—Signed by the Author,_

_M. Antiqua_


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've heard legends of that person..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day begins as all days do: in the morning.  
> There are some canon universe elements I'd like to stick to as much as possible; like you'll see in a few moments, Ike leads (or, in this case, will eventually lead) a group of mercenaries and he also has a sibling he cares about a lot...... since she's the only family he has left.
> 
> ALSO also also pleeeease note that "Ike" refers to the PoR-lookin' Ike and not the RD one that somehow grew like 6 sizes after three years... but since RD Ike is in Smash 4, I am most definitely including him. For /what/, though, will be revealed in due time...  
> 

It would be long before the full glory of morning. The shadows of night were still idly stretched over the lands of Smashworld—nestled in the trees, hiding beneath the mountainsides—but the dim line of sunrise pressed on, growing ever brighter.

Where the wilds were only beginning to awaken, Ike stood watching the long, jagged line of canyons in the distance. Tracing their dips and pulls in the desert rock with his eyes, he sighed. “Mist,” he said without moving. “Are you still awake?”

His younger sister had stubbornly insisted on accompanying him while he was getting his things together earlier; since leaving their settlement, she’d taken on a quieter lull. It took a few moments for her to realize Ike had spoken to her. “Yes…” she murmured, then she stretched her arms, yawning. “I’m awake. See?”

“You can head back to the town if you want, you know,” he said, turning to her.

“I do know.” Mist set her mouth in a straight line—an expression surprisingly far from a child’s pout—and reached out to fix the draping of her brother’s red cape. “But you spent weeks moping about whether you were going to accept the silly old letter, so I’m here to stop you just in case you change your mind again.”

It was the day of Smashworld's fourth Rostering—trophies, passing committee evaluation, would be registered to join the professional league. Those smashers would then become part of the world-famous tourneys that embodied the very spirit of competitive fighting—and it was this way of life that so many trophies living in Smashworld held dear to their hearts, aspiring to carve their own stories out of its splendor.

"Darn fold... " Ike muttered, seeing the envelope in his grasp was already starting to crumple. He pressed it flat between the pads of his fingers, and, holding it with both hands, frowned when he heard the paper crinkle the wrong way.

Mist held out her hand. “Here, let me hold it.”

Ike let out a breath. “No, no, I’m—I’ll fix it when I board.”

She simply smiled, brushing her auburn hair away from the gentle wind. “Okay, then. Could you tell me a little about what the train’s like?”

It was a giant, running the length of two stadiums, and it was by far the finest any trophy fighter had ever seen in Smashworld _,_ much less boarded. It sparkled as if some celestial being had painted it with the nighttime sky: black, with ethereal swirls of nebulae and the silver pepper of stars.

The train was created to soar. Every man-made structure that levitated used special technology—named  _volans nike_  for gods-knew-why—to channel natural magic into giving things anti-gravitational properties. And so the train roared through the air with its wheels spinning fervently, leaving white steam puffs dissipating into shimmering stardust.

The older denizens called it nostalgic—steam-powered trains were primitive compared to the much more common light rails that snaked across the world of trophies. The newer immigrants called it fitting—its engineers were a small division of the committee that governed Smashworld, comprised of some bold and auspicious personalities that sought to create a symbol of the might and the awe-inspiring abilities of the smashers it carried.

Though its first flight had only been some months ago, the train had already taken on a name, fashioned after the land in which it had been born: the Smash Express.

The train was supposed to be entering the canyons within the hour, and the very name itself was just a journalist dub to Ike—something the tabloids presented as a shrouded mystery.

“I mean, tabloids are just paragraphs of nonsense, of course, but—”

"What are you grinning about, Ike?" Mist asked. She'd been watching Ike patiently while he told her all he knew about the train.

"Grinning?" Ike cleared his throat. "I wasn't grinning."

"Sure you weren’t," she said, dismissing the question with a laugh. “I can't imagine being on a train like that. And to think that won’t be the end of all the amazing things you’ll see!”

“Not all at once,” Ike said. “Match season doesn’t start for another month.”

“But the Rostering is fun, right? You told us it had a lot of interesting things. New people, new places, new ways to set things on fire.”

Ike mirrored her smile. “I guess.”

Mist studied his face for a moment. “Are you nervous?”

Last night, the Greil Mercenaries were told they would need to limit the jobs they took on for a few days until their soon-to-be leader returned. Not that a hiatus posed any kind of problem—Ike's fortunes from successful sport alone were enough to buy tens of castles—but now there was an emptiness that only the familiar sound of his comrades' voices could fill.

Perhaps that was why he couldn't stop fidgeting and Mist seemed to keep bugging him for it. “No,” he half-lied. “I just don’t know when it’ll get here.”

“Oh, come on,” Mist said. “Details, details—”

“Are important, too. Sometimes there are things you just have to know.”

Mist’s eyebrows went up in confusion. “… Does it really matter?”

“Uh.” Ike swiped dark blue tresses of hair from his eyes. “Just in case. Schedules and preparations and all that.”

“Just in case, huh…” Mist looked away from her brother, pondering. Several moments passed before she spoke up again. “ _Just in case,_ Ike, there’s something you’ve got to hear.” She waited for Ike to give her his full attention, and then she smiled. “We’ll be there believing in you. We always will!”

Ike gazed at her for some moments before turning away, mumbling, ‘Thanks, I know.'”

Mist giggled at seeing him try to hide his smile. “You’re welcome. I just thought you might need a little cheering up.”

And they waited, resorting to counting the calls of the young Fletchling that, since it was the end of summer, were hatching in great numbers.

They’d counted twenty before there was a  _hiss_  and a clacking and rumbling of machinery (all for effect, as Ike guessed) growing louder with each passing moment. The siblings watched the Express approach them; it was a locomotive definitely covered in outer space, moving as if following invisible tracks. When the wheels slowed to a stop the train was soon hovering tens of feet in the air above them, and they stared up at it, eyes widening—it really did look as majestic as Ike had heard, after all—then someone hurled a simple ladder made of braided rope and dark wood over the side.

So much for being advertised as the latest and the best technological achievement of the decade. Or, as Ike then muttered to himself. “This can’t be the same train.”

Mist cleared her throat after a few beats of silence. “I think it is.”

She  _was_  right. There was no conceivable reason anyone would come all the way out here today other than to receive Ike. And no amount of incredulous staring would bring him onboard, so he began to scale the wooden planks, slowed by the weight of his own deliberate caution.

The planks felt rough, but not splintered, and they bent dangerously under his weight. Grimacing, he thought to ask if something had broken, if he needed to wait for something else—but the rope ladder began to retract back into the train car, accelerating with each passing second, and all was forgotten except holding on for dear life.

He made a frantic scramble onto the floor when it was within reach. Finding his legs were on stable flooring, he collapsed against the nearest wall and drew out a long breath.

Mist called out to him. “Ike! Are you alright?”

He turned himself over and leaned out the doorway. “I’m—I’m fine,” he called. The floor rumbled beneath him and he realized the train was beginning to move. “Tell Titania I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

“Don’t worry about us!” Mist yelled back. “Just don’t get yourself into any kind of trouble!” And so they exchanged their goodbyes, and soon the wide and wild deserts were a small and faraway patch of brown.

Ike sighed, returning to the memory of the train ladder: not quite a warm welcome back to the world of smashing.

He rose, looking for somewhere to seat himself. The train had well-cushioned ivory benches affixed to its carmine walls, and they were nearly vacant. Most of the fighters were clumped into one large flurry in the center. They moved freely about the floor, in and out of the doors connecting the cabs, talking excitedly among themselves. Watching them, Ike sat down nonchalantly. 

The envelope was the only thing he'd brought with him today, much like the other fighters here, as was instructed of them in the invitation letter. He looked over his garments, making attempts to properly smooth the creases out of the paper in his lap. Yesterday he found the outfit slightly falling apart, after a year or two of random usage—he only ever wore them in tournaments and repaired them even less frequently. Today, they fit a little more snugly, thanks to Mist, and he decided he’d finally learn to sew after got back home.

Ike narrowed his eyes at the envelope. He figured it was probably better to just utilize his Index; it was the years-old worldwide system of personal inventory, recently made usable to Smashers after the discovery of—Ike wasn't sure what—something like  _cold fusion_.

Since all participating fighters had to be unarmed the letter had also stated that all inventories would be under high surveillance. In other words, left empty. But Ike had figured something as simple as the letter itself wouldn’t do any harm.

The envelope and letter began to dissolve into small dust, taking on a golden glow. Then the particles formed a small stream in the air, spiraling into itself faster and faster, until it disappeared altogether in a self-contained flash. Ike reclined into the bench with a satisfied grin.

As he swept his gaze around the room, he readjusted himself to the fighters he could remember. A curious menagerie, at a glance; they varied not only in build, but in personality, color, and species. Basic facts and past experiences came back to him easily, but nothing more: besides competing, he’d only made light talk with most of them since joining the professional fighting league a few years ago. He preferred, after all, to spend his time alone than with the few close friends he had—

Something tugged at Ike’s cape; its red fabric gave off some sheen in the sun. Ike turned his head to see Pikachu greeting him, bouncing on the bench.

“Hey, little guy.” Ike returned the sentiment, reaching over to give the yellow pokémon a head-scratch. Pikachu responded with a short burst of sparks from its red cheeks, enthusiastically beaming. Then it twitched its ear, turning its head away for a few moments. It gave Ike a friendly nuzzle before hopping off the seat and becoming lost in the hustle and bustle of the train car.

Ike supposed he could indulge in warmer greetings, now that he was going to be on his own for quite a while.

Were his friends elsewhere on the Express? He craned his neck to see over the crowd. Prince Marth reclined in the opposite corner. He was intently listening with a few other, newer fighters to one of the more famous regulars—a green-clad swordsman—who was moving with great, exaggerated motions, likely telling some sort of story.

There was no one else visible besides Marth, who looked already looked rather busy. Ike thought he was comfortable right where he was, anyway. The car still had the sea of trophy fighters to move through, and it seemed the other side of the car was much noisier. Perhaps it was better to go say hello later.

“Still being the wallflower, I see.” The sudden voice caused Ike to whip his head again, and he jumped at the presence of Meta Knight next to him. The round swordsman donned his armor and cape, his newly-polished mask catching some of the ambient light. Though he was small, the boldness of his appearance made him stand out easily.

“Uh… hi to you, too,” said Ike, regaining his composure. He felt the train slow to a stop, likely to board another fighter. “And no. Nothing’s ever been wrong with resting in a corner, especially when there’s too much commotion to deal with—” he paused to glance around him as if to reaffirm his convictions “—so, uh, how long until the ride’s over?”

“Not very long,” Meta Knight answered. “This is actually the last leg of the route.”

“What?” Ike glanced around again, this time with his eyes alert and his mouth agape. “But—but lots of regulars aren’t here, and I thought there would be a lot less free space when I boarded.”

“Your eyes aren’t deceiving you. We are missing a few veterans. Apparently they all sent in their registrations early.”

Ike slowly sank back into his seat. “Okay, then. Still a pretty noisy crowd.” He looked to Meta Knight with a half-smile. “Which means  _I’m_  perfectly content right here.”

Meta Knight’s body tilted up and down in some kind of motion resembling a nod. “Fair enough, since I wholeheartedly agree. Everyone in your mercenary band doing well?”

“Yeah, they’re— _ow._ “ Ike had moved his arm to stretch it outside the nearest window, but a sudden shock quickly made him withdraw it. He glimpsed a faint pane of light that shimmered from one end of the window frame to the other. “A barrier,” he muttered, rubbing his elbow.

“Safety measures,” Meta Knight commented, “although I’m assuming the committee is more concerned with the possibilities of trophies looking for opportunities to fight other than fighting in the arenas.”

“So we have to use rickety ladders to climb up onto the train—” Ike gestured towards the windows, this time carefully so as not to hurt himself, “—but the train's got high-end security.”

“That was Kirby, as expected. He and Mega Man thought it a good idea to play with the teleport systems.”

“Of course they did,” Ike replied, scratching his head. "... Who's Mega Man?"

“He worked with the D-rank league—I believe he got stolen away to the southern research facilities before the complex got blown to rubble a while back.”

"D-rank? The ones who evaluated me the first time?”

“Precisely that.” Meta Knight turned himself around to peer out the window; the train had begun to accelerate. “The same stuffy personalities you kept complaining about during that whole subspace fiasco.”

Ike let out a disappointed groan. “No one ever gets to move up unless they’re some prissy know-it-all who loves to sit all day and tell others  _just_ the right way to fight. Even though they’re not the ones going out to battle hundreds of times a week.”

“If you want to work for the committee, then possibly. Look at Marth.” Meta Knight, still looking outside, waved a stubby arm towards the end of the train car where the blue haired prince was still seated.

“I wasn’t talking about him,” Ike huffed.

“But you could have,” Meta Knight said, supposedly shrugging, “if circumstances were different. The boy’s practically begging for a spot. The only reason they won’t let him in is because he’s still got a burning passion for battle.”

The mercenary chuckled at the remark, feeling relaxed for the first time in a while. “I hope it stays that way.”

 

 

Marth, poised and regal, had been patiently listening ever since Link opened his mouth, saying, “You think fighting one hydra is traumatizing? Try fighting four of them. All at once.”

The young knight of Hyrule, scion to a lineage of heroes etched in histories even before those of Smashworld’s, had been like a sibling to Marth since they were young fighters, and yet, there was always something new to expect.  _Of course_ , it was Link's own personal talent to be an all-star in more than his Smash career. He was passionate enough to be raw and authentic, imaginative enough to be bright and mesmerizing. 

But his audience was small, today; Link had decided to entertain the newer fighters, who watched him just as intently as the veterans.

“Somehow, all the gigantic beasts seem to come your way,” Marth said.

The story was now somewhere in the middle of the narrative, and Link paused to smile at him. “I guess slaying evil is the thing I do best.” Then he continued, his small corner of the train still energized.

As Link spoke, Marth noticed the Smash Express was easing to a stop. He studied the doorway that was hidden behind the clamor. He wondered—he hadn't gone to meet other novice smashers since arriving. How were they being integrated? Had they made themselves comfortable already, or were some raring to start a fight? And, if the latter were true, who would stop them?

“… And then I was more scared about my lunch getting wet—because what was I going to give to the very princess of Hyrule herself?—than about this great,  _biiiig_  jaw about to rush at me, and—”

“Tell me how the story ends, if you will. I’m going to go see if there are any new arrivals,” Marth said, somewhat direct in his tone. Apparently, a tree of planning had worked itself out in his head.

Link noticed the crafty smile on the prince’s face.  “Ooh, I want to meet them too,” he said, genuine interest in his voice—but he also knew he’d be leaving his audience hanging in the air, so he shook his head. “Wait, seriously? Come  _on._  I’m just about to get to the juicy stuff.” He made a frown, but quickly reshaped it into a grin when Marth raised an eyebrow at him. “Fine, okay, you do your thing. Have fun.”

Marth stood up, his dark blue cape billowing behind him. Turning to the audience, he gave a gentle wave. "My apologies, everyone. I hope you remain well."

Link watched the prince stroll away through the ever-changing movement of characters on the Express, and then he turned back to his audience. "I'm sorry. He runs this semi-official training thing… you know how tough of a fighter you’ve gotta be to get into the top leagues. So when he gets the chance to, uh, make some friends, there's no stopping him."

“And there's no stopping you, too. Come on!" an angel named Pit urged excitedly. “All those months of vacationing left me itching for a thrill! Not to mention this year being a new Rostering and all.”

Pit was leaned forward on the bench with the pink, round creature Kirby on his lap, the latter of the two brilliantly smiling with wide eyes. The self-titled princess of the cosmos, Rosalina, had been relaxing against the wall adjacent to Pit’s with her hands clasped together into her lap. She was seated by the villager boy from Smashville, and after him was Little Mac, the teenaged boxer from the one of the cities in the east. Mac sat the farthest, seeming to slump against the wall, but his attention was as stolen as anyone else enthralled in the story.

“What happened next?” Pit urged.

"Hold on." Link looked up for a few moments, appearing to connect imaginary dots with his hands. His expression brightened suddenly. “Oh, yeah, yeah. The biggest one. Literally the size of ten giants. As big as a god.”

“Whoa!” Pit reeled back in his seat. “Didja get to see that one’s head up close?”

Link puffed his chest out. “You bet. Teeth the size of Bowser, maybe—and there were just rows and rows of ‘em all stuffed into the things’ mouths!”

"Huh. I punched out tons of teeth in my entire career. You can ask Doc when he gets here," Mac remarked. "And he'll tell you I never seen teeth that big."

“Me neither," said Link, "until the moment it stared me down, and there was this spark in all six of its eyes. Imagine the rush, all that  _im-pend-ing_  doom, of a dragon head flying towards you at the speed of sound,  _times three_.” He leaned in towards the villager with a menacing grin, and the boy shrunk back involuntarily.

Rosalina smiled sympathetically at the villager, then carefully folded her arms across her chest, her azure dress shimmering as it moved. “I’m curious as to how exactly you out-sped it, then.” Her dulcet voice had a twinkling quality to it, made even more discernible from the way she spoke with an easygoing manner.

To Link, the pointed look in her expression just made her sound intimidating. “O—kay,” he said, looking at her uneasily, “maybe not exactly the speed of sound, but still fast enough to give anyone a run for their money. And then—” he pantomimed firing an arrow from a bow, “— _whooosh_. Sunk ‘em right in one of the eyes. I was just standing there in awe. It was thrashing so hard it’d knocked all the other ones around it senseless! So much that they all turned in on ‘em and—” he thrust his bared hands at each other, making some kind of primitive growl, “—had all nine heads locked on to his necks. Let me tell you, I’d never seen anything so… gross.”

Pit made a disappointed face. “That’s it? Gross? Not totally cool-looking?”

“It’s a monster. What else did you expect?” Link said, suddenly blunt. Then he laughed. “But I think  _you_  of all angels should know that… and, besides, those details might be better for a campfire story.” He drew in a breath, allowing the rest of the narrative to float into his mind—

He froze, because it didn’t; the last thing he did after shooting one of the heads was make a regrettably frantic escape—in fact, the whole encounter was really just one hydra to start with.

He wasn't one to leave his story hanging, though, so he finished: “And then… and then… those hydras decided they were full and sorta…sank back into the lake. I’ll tell you how it ends next time I visit there.” Link winced at hearing the hesitation in his words.

The other four sat in silence, seemingly in a trance, before a wave of discontent washed over them. It was made public by Kirby’s indignant-sounding whine, but no one paid the pink ball any attention.

Rosalina blinked at Link, her eyes widening. “No battle to the death? No fight for glory in the eyes of the goddesses?”

“I wish, but it's the idea that counts, right?” Link chuckled, albeit he looked sidelong at the lot in front of him. “Weird. I haven’t had any of  _those_  fights since a few years ago.”

Pit, who’d slumped against the corner, instantly jerked forward. The eagerness burst through him: “Oh, yeah! I remember! Smashworld army against the evil, terrible crime bosses of the underworld!”

“Subspace,” Link corrected.

“Same difference,” Pit retorted hastily. He looked up to address the entire group. “You know, you guys are lucky you have the home border keeping you safe.” He shivered. “Subspace came in from the Lands Beyond. Imagine how horrible it was.”

Mac stretched his arms behind his back. "Honestly? They completely destroyed half of New Pork City. One a' my favorite arenas got crushed."

Link rubbed his chin. "Right, right, and the committee let you and your trainer stay at the Nintendogs’ super fancy home," he said, sounding intrigued. "Nice work on showing off your moves to get into the Assist League that one time."

"Now you're one of the big guys!" Pit exclaimed. Mac grinned from ear to ear in response.

Rosalina tilted her head to one side. “I was still training amongst the stars during this period. Although I did hear about that Subspace army ordeal in passing from dear Olimar’s crew—the little ones, I mean.” She smiled warmly. “To think such an adventure presented itself among you all.”

“Wow. You can communicate with Pikmin?” Pit asked.

“No, not me,” said Rosalina, shaking her head. “My Lumas can, though, and I'm glad. The captain's ship had a bit of trouble with the navigator—a few tiny bugs! I suppose I had a stroke of luck.”

“Isn’t it great how anything can happen?” said Link. He made a half-shrug. “You know, Founders forbid, but if I can get caught up with four huge three-headed snakes, then the world isn’t much safer—what are you going to do when the next big thing happens?”

“Gee,” Pit said. “When you say it like that it sounds like you’re asking for a best hero competition.”

“What?” Link drew back, surprised. “No way! Not on my personal agenda, anyway.” Then he leaned forward a little, directing his attention more to Pit than the others, and quietly added, “Besides. I’ve already got everyone at home and their great ancestor pinning me to that Hylian hero’s crest. Imagine if I actually proved them right.”

Pit grinned knowingly, though his expression resembled more of a smirk. “Ha! Yeah,” he laughed. He struck a prideful pose. “You mean you’re admitting the only one winning any best hero competitions’ll be  _yours truly_.”

Mac looked out at the rest of the train. “Best hero competition? Ain’t that what Smash battling already is, kinda? Lotsa people came here for being a savior or a leader or something else famous.” He fixated his gaze on Pit. “That  _does_  mean you, too. When you introduced yourself at the start of this train ride, you said you went out to save the Lands Beyond not too long ago.”

Pit folded his arms. “Yeah… but I did because I had to. I bet you could ask anyone here and they’ll tell you that, no matter what amazing thing brought them to Smash with us, they did it because they had to.” He patted the top of Kirby’s head. “Even the smallest of us.”

“A little goes a long way,” Link said. His eyes took on a new, inspired shine. “But a  _real_  Smashworld hero? Those are people like the primes… or like the gods. Trophies who go above and beyond. Most of  _us_  are just celebrity names that get passed around like, ‘Hey, did you hear about Luigi? He saved his brother by becoming the ultimate ghostbuster!’”

“Do tell me what it is that you  _are_  looking for, then,” Rosalina said to both Pit and Link, “Because many of us newcomers are actually aware you all have already gone lengths to save Smashworld at least once.”

“Well, for me, it’s to do something that’ll someday land in the land-wide history books,” Pit answered decisively. “An entry dedicated to the absolutely  _awesomest_  hero of all time. Smashworld wouldn’t be the same without them.”

Mac lowered his brows. “And that’s doing something bigger than stomping out a big bad like Tabuu?”

Pit responded with emotion in his words. “Haven’t you ever  _felt_  what it’s like to win? So much win that you just want to cheer for yourself over and over again? Wouldn’t it be great to experience that, but  _so much better_? I mean—”

“Whoa,” Link said, eyes wide. “We still have a whole Rostering to get through first. But hey, you  _could_  start off your big thrill quest by culling Smashworld’s hydra population.”

“No, all out it is!” Pit exclaimed. “I’m hoping for something really weird, like nasty three-headed  _ice shooting lions with wings_  to take over!”

Link saw Pit was looking at him expectantly and he grinned. “You could… go bigger. Space pirates  _riding_  ice shooting lions that can fly. Maybe leading an army of giant people with huge mouths.”

“All controlled by a robot dog overlord?” Pit was fluttering his angel wings.

“A whole boatload of them, bud.”

The two exchanged high-fives with cheery laughs, and the other four seated there joined in the merry scene.

“Speaking of,” Pit said after the group’s cheer had fallen into a lull, “I just remembered I’ve never actually  _told_ you guys about what I was doing out in the Lands Beyond.”

“Whatever it was, it must have been quite the adventure,” Rosalina mused. “The places outside Smashworld seem to exist in universes where the rules are written differently. Even from space, it looks like Smashworld is—is just one light in a dense mess of nebulae.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Link said, grinning at Pit. “Why don’t you tell us about what’s outside in all that space-y mess?”

“Really? You want  _me_  to tell a story?” Pit exclaimed.

“Sure. Whenever you want to,” Mac said. The villager nodded along with him as well.

Smiling at them, Pit cleared his throat. “Well, it all started when a few Underworld troops started showing up outside the Temple…”

 

 

In the distance, some train cars’ lengths away, a whistle sounded. It echoed over the forest below, a full and fervent tone, and all of the passengers halted their ruckus. A ripple of silence befell them for a few moments, leaving only a ghost of noise.

Pit jumped up with a sudden flap of his wings. “We’re at the stadium already!” Kirby, who’d since fallen asleep in Pit’s arms, rolled over onto the floor, calling out angrily after the angel who was already pushing his way through the car. Pit turned around momentarily. “Sorry there, Kirbs—ah, s’cuse me—but I gotta go retrieve the committee personnel. Lady Palutena says they’re waiting—ouch—back at the Coliseum for me to give 'em the green light. I'll be back before anyone begins making any big announcements!” He'd already been swallowed in the rush to exit the train cars, but Link, Rosalina, Little Mac, and the villager waved goodbye at him anyway.

“Well then, after you three,” Link said cheerfully. He stooped to pick up a still-irritated Kirby, who puffed his cheeks out at the Hylian. Rosalina and the villager boy got up and fell somewhere into the stream of smashers, chattering between themselves. Little Mac eagerly stepped towards someone near the back who was offering him a chocolate bar while sending friendly greetings, and then Link merged into the crowd.

After a few seconds of adjusting to the hustle and bustle, Link looked ahead. Marth was a few persons in front; he appeared to be conversing casually with that one mercenary with the headband, and Meta Knight was hovering a few feet above them. With his arm still wrapped around Kirby, Link ducked forward under Princess Peach’s parasol and squeezed past Samus in her Zero Suit—“Hello, ladies, hope you’ve had a nice morning,” he greeted—and playfully nudged the prince with his elbow. “Hey, here’s the story for you: they all died.”

Marth looked over at him, unsuccessfully suppressing a grin. “I don't recall asking for a one-sentence summary.”

Meta Knight then alighted onto Link’s head, staring down at him. “Still haven’t lost your sunny disposition,” he said coolly. “But you seem to have lost your mind, too.”

“Morning. And I’m working on it—oh, uh…” Kirby had wriggled himself free, much to Link’s surprise. The pink fighter dashed over to Pikachu, who’d been riding on the pokémon Lucario's shoulder. “I just started telling big monster stories a little while ago.” Meta Knight said nothing in response and Link leaned over a little, looking past Marth. The mercenary was silently observing the exchange among the other three sword fighters with a hint of amusement in his expression. Link waved at him with a “Good morning to you, too—” and then he faltered.

Arching an eyebrow, Ike said his name.

“Ike!” Link repeated after the mercenary, laughing nervously. "Sorry, I've been re-meeting a lot of smashers today. Names slip right past me!"

Meta Knight tapped a foot while resting on Link’s head, displacing some of the Hylian’s blond hair. “Instead of remembering everyone’s names, you should stick to what I do: naming people by the most noticeable feature in their appearance. For example—” he pointed at Mario up ahead, who’d been heading out with his usual bouncing gait. “Jumpy Jumpers.” He pointed at Princess Zelda further away. “Royal Pains.”

"Hey." Link shot a glare upwards. "Call Zelda that again and we'll see who's got royal pains."

“Royal Pains isn’t too far off from being spot on,” Marth said before Link shifted his glowering expression in the prince’s direction. “I mean, it’s not a bad strategy to use. I might call myself something ridiculous like Big Winner.”

“More like Big Mistake,” Meta Knight snickered.

Marth scowled at him. “Then I suppose I can rename  _you_  something like Baseball Bat."

"Strike one,” Ike joined in, grinning smugly at Meta Knight.

The bat ball then made a glorious leap off Link’s head, swooped behind Ike, and yanked the swordsman’s dark headband with enough momentum to send him staggering backwards. Marth and Link shared a wide-eyed glance, stopping to help Ike right himself.

“And he’s out,” said the prince. Ike growled after Meta Knight, but the masked swordsman had already flown towards the front of the crowd, noting to himself that some ideas were better left unshared. 

Nearly all of the fighters had exited the train by now. From the loading dock, the great Midair Stadium wavered as a mysterious shadow in the distance, filling many hearts with bubbling anticipation.

 

Samus and Peach looked out at the vast expanse of clouds before them; they spotted an exquisite land mass not too far from the dock.

“My, I do love what they’ve done with the Battlefield this year,” said Peach, twirling her parasol in her hands. “I feel like anyone could get lost here!”

With every Smash Brothers tournament, the committee-appointed organization in charge of overlooking it established a competitive stage. Such a stage had toured Smashworld for the past three incarnations, and now was no different. With  _volans nike_ , the immediate environment was fitted together into a variety of weathered stone walkways and vine-covered viewing platforms that littered the sky—but, though they were beautiful, all eyes rested on the great piece of land hewn into a battlefield for smashers to use.

This year, the official stadium expanded upon the previous design of a lost time belonging to the Founders themselves, rubble and ruined coliseums alike towering with reimagined might. The design had expanded quite literally, too, as this year the battlefield was almost three times as large as previous incarnations. Together with the surrounding islands that floated around like stray colonies, the battlefield evoked the image of a barren, ancient city in the clouds, a ghost of former glory days past.

“Yeah,” Samus agreed. “It’s messy-looking in a good way here. But these guidelines are solar-powered, so losing your way is, well... a lost cause.” Indeed, venerability met the future of change in sacred unity here: synthetic fixtures created glowing lines in the old rock and marble, tracing symmetrical patterns along the series of hovering masses.

A lengthy light bridge, pulsating with a golden yellow color, connected one end of the loading dock to the battlefield. Eventually all of the smashers poured onto the floating land mass, and some of the more seasoned individuals immediately made themselves comfortable on stray slabs of rock or, if they were lucky, felled pillars. The others followed suit over the next few passing minutes. 

Little Mac had been staring over the sea of clouds for what seemed like forever until a loud sigh, unquestionably exasperated, shook him from his daydreaming.

Link had been nearby, pacing back and forth across the stones with his arms crossed. His outburst caused him to stop in his tracks, but only after he'd noticed that a few fighters had drawn back, staring at him with wary eyes. One new fighter, a pale woman who asked others to refer to her as the “Trainer,” sternly chided the Hylian: “It is recommended that you exercise discretion with your power as a trained veteran.” She sounded virtual, like a mechanical announcer at a staged event. The peremptory edge to her voice sent shivers up Link’s spine.

“Uh…my apologies, ma’am,” he replied, though he grimaced as he said it.

Samus had been sitting next to the Trainer with her legs hanging off the edge of the island. She blinked on recognizing Link, then made some kind of apologetic smile to the woman. “No need to harp too much on that one,” Samus said, pointing to the swordsman, “since he’s usually calmer than he is right now.” Then, she turned to Link. All the years of bounty hunting had taught her the importance of minute details, and after a moment of reading Link’s expression she pursed her lips in a tight line. “It’s been a while since I last saw you and now you’re in a buzz. What could you possibly be worried about? Did you leave the water running at home?”

“No,” Link muttered. “I, um… this is the first time the committee’s late. Registering sessions should be over before noon.”

Samus glanced up at the sun. “It’s nowhere close to noon.”

“Close  _enough_.” Link looked up, frowning.

Mac cleared his throat. “’S just a little late. Rosterings don’t happen every year.” 

Samus nodded in the boxer’s direction. “What he said.”

Link pouted. “Sure, I mean—” he sighed “—sorry. It’s just me overthinking.”

Samus heard a nervous edge in his voice that seemed rare to surface from someone like him. She nodded at him, softening her gaze for a few moments. "It's a day of celebration, right? I'm sure it’ll be like old times."

"I... "

"Like old times,” Samus insisted.

The Trainer nodded, albeit with clear confusion. “The blue girl’s warnings are exemplary. It would be advisable to—” her metallic voice was jarred by a loud  _boom_  rocking the island. The sudden noise caused a cacophony of confused yells and excited murmurs.

Samus scrambled away from the edge, and she gratefully used Link’s outstretched hand to pull herself up. “Great Founders,” she whispered. “Is that the committee—ARGH!” She stumbled forward as another tremor shook the floating battlefield.

“Look, over there!” someone cried, soon mirrored by others and followed by numerous gasps.

The smashers could only watch as a massive shadow began to assemble over the island where they were gathered. Up in the air, countless chunks of rock—step stones, bits of dirt, and large, broken pieces of architecture—crashed together, gnawing at themselves and gathering into a shapeless figure dwarfing even the stadium in might.

Mac looked at it with bewilderment. "This planned?" he asked. The question should have been mocking, but he was completely serious.

"I don't know. It... sure is a big welcome back from the committee," Samus replied, her confidence slowly failing.

Then, a great  _roar_  erupted from it, and the broken mass fell inwards all at once. Its parts spun round each other, melting together, reshaping themselves until they at last formed something faintly recognizable: a mocking echo of a giant, armored soldier. Twilight-colored flames flickered across where the soldier’s head towered, its face featureless except for its eyes that burned with a white-hot intensity.

There above the smashers loomed an architectural titan, ruins and rock welded together in a frightening display of raw power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is my first actual posted work of fiction, please do send critique!! And since this story's still being written, I'd very much like to hear what kinds of character dynamics you'd like to see! Thank you!
> 
> thank you for the support so far have my love please


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Smash needs to be a game that new players can play. Some level of technical skill may be necessary, but if one just tries, and can move their character around a bit, that's the important part. We do show the results of the battle, but everyone just mashes A, right? To move on, to keep going. Making people feel this way is important."  
> — translated from an interview with Masahiro Sakurai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope these characterizations, while divergent, are developed enough! They'll see further development in future chapters... flaws and strengths and all.

 

The stone soldier hovered high in the air, unmoving. Dirt rolled off its form and fell onto the battlefield in small clods. Its size was large enough to block out the sunlight entirely, creating before it a shadow that stretched far across the battlefield. Its weight was great enough to shatter the island and defeat every fighter in its path with one swift blow. The flames of its twilight mask trailed in eerie swirls, and from its being there came a great and otherworldly roar. Whatever purpose this colossus served could be nothing other than malicious.

The very presence of the giant should have been enough to cause an explosion of frantic cries from the crowd of smashers below, but a choking silence rolled through the air instead. Although fear might have frozen some in place, all of the smashers were filled with awe at the monolith before them.

Fox was the first to mutter something: "Darnit, I should've snuck the blaster in with me after all!" Others around him grudgingly echoed his sentiment to themselves. If only the giant hadn't attacked on Rostering Day!

Still no one dared to make the first move. Fight? Or flee? After all, many lacked offensive abilities, much less offensive abilities that would be useful against a mass of solid rock.

Marth grit his teeth—ten seconds of doing nothing was ten seconds too many.

There was a stack of platforms off to the side. They would eventually become extra fighting grounds above the stage for smashers to use in competition, but they served no other purpose—except, as Marth saw it, they could be a makeshift dais.

With a deep breath, he climbed onto the stack as swiftly as he could. If no one was going to prompt action, he would.

The colossus looked immobile for now, but it likely wouldn't be for long. He would have to be as succinct as possible. His voice boomed at the crowd: "Smashers!"

Only those nearest him took notice. Mario happened to be one of them, so he let out a long  _yahoo_ , jumping on top of the dais. This time, all of the smashers heard the call, and there was a ripple of movement as the group set their eyes on the plumber. Mario tipped his red hat towards Marth, then hopped off with a cheeky, "All yours now!"

"Right—thank you, Mario," said the prince, and he cleared his throat, turning to his audience. "All of you—will you not move? Take up arms and fight!"

Some of the crowd looked to the giant again. The Trainer focused her vision, assessing the sight before her. She made no hesitation to voice an approximation of concern: "Inadequate weaponry against a basic geological form, barely structured to resemble a humanoid being, creates battle to be an impetuous situation."

Rosalina had been listening to her among the confusion of the others. "I believe," she offered generously, "the idea was that many of us are not quite, ah,  _ready_  for a large-scale battle…not in this vulnerable state."

Some of the crowd began to back away from the dais. Marth himself had foregone bringing his sword with him, much like many others who were asked to come unarmed. The colossus—now beginning to rumble within itself, as if beginning to stir from its midair suspension—was made of fortified stone, which meant the prince would sooner break his weapon than begin to make a single dent.

Even so— _Don't lose them now!—_ he appealed to them again. "I have a plan! If—if you would all listen—" Those who were beginning to depart from him had stopped, turning their gazes to him. Marth opened his mouth, allowed the stream of consciousness to filter through his mind, searching for the plan that would assemble for him to follow.

He found nothing of use to say. "I... think we should..." But the seconds were falling like a landslide, and it would bring with it the meager influence he'd managed to scrape. "I think we should still fight," he said, thinking,  _Plan! I got up without a plan!_ "I know not all of us can battle at the moment, but many of us are already equipped with natural abilities." He made a sharp sweep of the arm towards the rock colossus. "Ones that can fend that off, or at least stop it from fulfilling whatever destruction it’s going to bring!"

"Then what about us?" Samus exclaimed, offended. "Stand around and be rock pulp?"

"Obviously not," the prince shot back. "You should—you should..." and the plan began to unearth itself, but only by its surface.Marth raised his voice again: "You should hurry! Those of you who are unarmed—or wielding inadequate weapons, I suppose—must get back on the Express immediately—" The train still hovered at the loading dock, oddly peaceful against the rising danger nearby. "—otherwise, you are to assemble yourselves here. Wait for my order to move out!"

Some of the smashers began to regroup themselves, finding little to argue against. Marth wiped the sweat from his brow and let out a long sigh.

Meta Knight flew over to the prince, keeping himself aloft in the air. "You know, that giant is probably twice as tall as the Halberd," he said. "You're taking up quite a bit."

The masked swordsman had sounded concerned, but his words threatened to break the already-thin ice Marth had established. "You don't have to tell me this is nothing like training smashers.” Marth kept his tense expression turned away. "Besides—" he suddenly barked, " _Fighters, the giant! It may move any second!"_ Then, continuing at his normal volume, "—you should know yourself how I can handle a giant. Especially ones more complex than whatever this mockery is."

Meta Knight narrowed his glowing eyes, as if the counterargument could be found written very clearly on Marth's face. "Very well. Aside from the matter of handling it, we must also send distress signals about it to the Hive Citadel and, more importantly, straight to the Coliseum. Who knows what else this giant is bringing?”

“I had been thinking that too,” Marth said, even though it was far from true. “Which is why I hope you’ll manage that to the best of your ability.”

"Then I’ll do that and possibly re-arm anyone who will board the train—if history proves itself right, this is just an ill-timed break through the borders. I’ll do your group a favor by bringing the Halberd straight here as soon as possible.”

"All right. Take care of the Express," Marth replied with a nod, still avoidant of eye contact. He heard the purple Dimensional Cape whirl round, and Meta Knight was gone. The masked swordsman reappeared near the edge of the battlefield, and there was a flurry of movement as the smashers separated.

Soon there was a smaller crowd gathered in front of the dais. Mario, Luigi, and Kirby stood at the forefront with the princesses Peach and Zelda positioned a little behind them. Pikachu had rallied its fellow pokémon and stood alert on the much larger Charizard's head. Lucario and Greninja stood by the fire lizard, one on each side. To their left, Rosalina had summoned her star-child Luma, and they stood together with the Trainer, Pac-Man, Little Mac, and Mega Man.

Zelda glanced around her. "Ready yourselves!" she called.

Most of the chatters died down. "At your command, Prince," said Peach.

Marth nodded at her, flashing a smile. So far, an acceptable outcome. Now came the real challenge.

 _Rational. I have to think rational._ Marth freed himself of all thoughts but those of the strategies of battle. He knew how to generalize orders—albeit his target was usually something less menacing like straw dummies or a common monster. A broad approach seemed like a good start—and he raised his voice again: "Long Range, look for weak points! Pokémon will attack the upper half! Close-ranged combat will be with me! We'll attack it at the legs!"

"Oh no!" Luigi shouted. "It's coming down!" The giant had indeed begun to descend. It sank through the air slowly, almost carefully, as if gravity was a force it opposed every second it was airborne. The rest of the fighters watched the prince with bated breath.

Commands needed to be simpler. "Be careful!" Marth dictated, reciting a rhetoric well-memorized. "Aim only to weaken or disable it! Combine your strengths!" The stone titan landed with a quaking  _thud_ at the farther end of the island. Many of the fighters' stances faltered from the ground tremors.

Marth made his way ahead to the front of the battle lines. He'd said all he needed to say, at least for now. He raised his right arm. A few moments of nothing but a deep silence stretched seconds into countless moments.

The titan remained still. Many fighters tensed, filling themselves with adrenaline.

Then, it  _roared_  with great ferocity. "MOVE! NOW!" Marth swung his outstretched arm outwards, and, with a great cry, the fighters charged.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, on the light bridge, someone continued to cry loudly.

"Oh no, no, no…" Samus murmured to herself, wincing at the sobs she heard. She, along with many other smashers, had been following Meta Knight away from the clash with the giant.

The reasons for fleeing varied among the group: many lacked their weapons, others found themselves at a disadvantage against the stone giant, armed or not, and some simply preferred not to get involved.

Donkey Kong was somewhere in the middle of the mob with his nephew Diddy Kong on his back. Diddy turned his head once the loud screaming began to die down behind him.

A small figure had been left in the dust: the villager. He was still yelling at the top of his lungs. For the small smasher, it was extremely exhausting keeping up with even the rear of the group, and the distance grew with every frantic step in his run across the light bridge. Diddy tapped Donkey Kong on the shoulder, signaling the larger of the two to head back.

Samus looked behind her. Donkey Kong had scooped the villager up with a large arm and was now ferrying him back within the pack; the boy had been soothed by Diddy, but, judging by the shaking that was even visible from afar, just barely so. Turning her attention forward again, she said to herself, "These guys are the best in the leagues. It feels almost wrong to waste all this potential.”

Ike, happening to hear the remark, quickened himself to run parallel to her. "You're telling me," he said.

"Hey, Samus!" Another figure ran up alongside the two. A dim, golden glow encompassed his left hand. "Want to head back with me over there?"

Samus blinked. "Seriously, Link?" she huffed. The loading dock got closer by the second. "What was the point of running here, then?" She slowed to a walk anyway, and the rest of the pack began to brush past. Ike, still subconsciously matching her pace, stayed behind with her.

Link shrugged. "My bad. I only checked my inventory a few moments ago." He raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, still optimistic. "Well?"

Samus gave him an accusing look.

"Uh, that's okay if you don't want to." He grinned weakly. "But you're someone who knows her way around explosives. No power-suit needed." Then, Link's eyes brightened. "Oh, yeah, I guess you totally don't have to, then! Maybe this guy can do it," he said, pointing to Ike.

"Wait, what—" the mercenary said, suddenly realizing where he was.

"You might as well just be asking everyone instead of me, then," said Samus.

"Ah, well," Link replied, shrugging mellowly. "You got me there. I just assumed you might be up for it."

The Express was now beginning to fill with its first passengers. Images of the villager being an inconsolable mess kept flooding Samus' mind, and she shook her head, unable to turn away. "Not this time. I'd rather stay with the rest of these guys." She charged some power into her boots before bounding great leaps into the first train car.

From the window, she saw Link nodding at her, saluting. “We’ll be back!” she cried. She saluted back at both him and Ike before she felt a rumble ripple through the train floor. "Uh oh. Looks like it’ll leave any moment. Stay safe!"

“Wait—” Ike said, hoping he hadn’t heard Samus wrong. The end of the dock was still so far away! “I have to—” But the train whistle sounded, soon joined by the hiss of the engines: a ringing and rumbling that faded mumbles, as the Smash Express turned round and soared away from the scene.

When the Express had become a small dot in the distance, Link stretched his arms over his head. "Well! There goes your chance at escape if you still wanted to go." He swiveled around on his boots and snapped his fingers. A small orb of light appeared over his still-glowing hand, appearing to levitate for a few moments. Then it grew larger, losing its white shine, and it split into two shapeless blobs, materializing into a bow and an arrow-filled quiver.

The golden glow faded away. "Ike, right?" Link asked with a mild interest, fastening the quiver to his back. Slinging the strap diagonally over himself, he continued. "Sorry I forgot your name earlier. It just means we've talked less than a few times—" the two of them heard a low, menacing rumble from somewhere in the distance, "—now seems like a perfect opportunity to get acquainted, huh?"

“I…” Ike hadn’t moved since watching the train leave. _No, no, no, no, no_. What was it he promised about not getting into any kind of trouble again? “Do you… do you realize you just made me miss my—my only chance of getting back home?”

“Did I?” the Hylian said, lowering his brows. A few beats of silence passed. “Oh. Uh… sorry. I didn’t think you were in such a hurry.”

 _I can still leave,_ Ike thought.  _They’ll be safe until then._ He stepped back. "No, no, it’s fine. Don’t even apologize. I’ll… manage.  It’s more my fault than anyone’s.”

“I mean, I can try to call for—”

Again,  _no, no, no_. No worrying. “Okay, first of all, I can get the help I need by myself. And second, I don’t want to be standing nearby if you get caught with _that_." He pointed to the bow in Link’s grip. He’d noticed its bright blue limbs, golden accents adorning it; a sacred halo seemed to surround its being. The bow was definitely custom-made for the swordsman, and it was magnificent. It was also definitely not supposed to be there, just like Ike was not supposed to be here. He shook his head as if to dismiss the topic. “Whatever. I don’t need to know.”

He could hear Link laugh to himself, although he seemed more relieved than amused. "Okay, if you say so. I’m going to move on back, though. That big rock monster’s not going to wait for anyone."

Ike grit his teeth. “Don’t really want to wait for it either. I  _was_  trying to get away from it, if you haven’t understood that yet.”

“I understand perfectly well, thanks. But, uh, that option’s closed off now, so… what are you going to do?”

"Well, I—" but Ike realized his choices were severely limited, and he didn't feel very useful doing nothing, so he sighed. "… You said you had a plan?"

Link’s eyes lit up. “So that’s a yes? I mean, I was brainstorming this hoping to ask someone a bit more light on their feet, but the idea’s flexible enough not to fall apart. It’s also not really that much of an active job, and I know especially that I wouldn’t want to do anything I felt like I _had_ to—”

Ike stopped him with an outstretched arm. “Yeah. Okay. If it’ll help bring that thing down faster, I’ll pitch in. Clearly I don’t have anything better to do, since you did strand me here and all.”

“Great!" Link said. "It’ll be fun!"

"Fun," Ike repeated sarcastically. "Is cheating the system and ruining people’s days also fun?"

"What—this?" Link pointed to his bow. "Report me if you want, but I swear it was an accident," he said. “But, then again, I do ruin people’s days for a living.”

"Don't mock me."

Link started to head back towards the light bridge. "Sorry, I'll be serious now. You almost reminded me of Mar."

"Marth?" Ike trailed some distance behind. "Gods, no. The last person I'd ever want to be like," he said, sounding insulted.

"Believe me, you're not him." Link noticed the faraway echoes of clashes and yells starting to seep their way through the air. "Anyway, about the Index. My old bow must’ve been left behind when I dumped everything into the archives. How often do  _you_  use it for storing weapons?—or are you one of those people that just use it for aether-net stuff?”

Ike looked down. "Uh. Well—I don't really make use of it for much else other than storing Ragnell." There was an uncertain pause. "My broadsword, I mean."

"You name your sword, huh." A great tremor echoed from the island on the other side. The two swordsmen broke into a run, Link allowing Ike to hurry alongside him. Explaining needed to be now: "Sounds like something I can ask about later. I said I needed someone who can handle explosives. Do you know how to handle bombs?"

Ike knit his eyebrows at the Hylian. "Uh. I'm familiar with them, I think. What, do you—" Ike was cut off when Link waved his hand and held something—small, round and plated with a dark metal—in front of Ike's face. "You do.”

He took the explosive and held it snugly in one arm, though he had trouble keeping his eyes off it. It felt much too crudely made, like the metal was a misstep away from falling apart, and to Ike it had absolutely  _no_  business being a proper bomb. "These the same kinds you use in tournaments?"

"Yeah, but why do—" Link saw that they were coming closer to the island. "They work. Trust me. It's really just lighting them! Only needs a quick flick of the fuse. Maybe you can toss 'em if you feel like it." He let out a short  _hmm_ , studying the bomb in Ike's possession. "You definitely have a good throw, yeah?" Link had said it as if he'd known the other swordsman for years.

Looking at his arms, Ike scoffed. “You can’t just judge a book by its cover.”

"My bad. I tend to remember people before their names, though," said Link, unabashed. "And I  _do_ know from those matches you’ve been in that you’re pretty strong. Right?” A loud roar erupted from the colossus. "Anyway, since you don't have Ragdoll—"

"Ragnell."

"Since you don't have  _Ragnell_ ," Link corrected himself, "you, um, might be able to help out with your new bomb supply."

"Wait." Ike narrowed his eyes, as if incredulous of what he’d just heard. “You want me to just light these and throw them at that thing?"

"No no, I said if you  _felt_  like it. You'll see! You won’t believe how good these bombs are at destroying boulders."

“What  _is_ there to see?” Ike pressed defiantly. “This is child’s play! You can’t be thinking this is some game of—”

Link turned with a sudden energy that was fierce enough to make Ike fall silent. “Seriously. Relax. So what if you’re not on that train? It’ll come back.”

Ike knit his brows, hesitating to respond. “I’m fine.”

“Then come on!” Link continued onwards with more urgency. “That giant’s still at large!” The two of them had stepped onto the island by now and were headed to the nearest piece of fallen rubble that could serve as cover.

There was a broken piece of a wall a short dash ahead; once they'd gotten there and crouched low, Link peered over the top. "Ancients, that thing looks like it got scarier." He motioned for the mercenary to hand the bomb over.

Link retrieved an arrow from his quiver, and wrapped the fuse around it, looping the string into a knot at the base of the arrowhead. He tied slowly and deliberately as Ike watched; once would be enough of an explanation. "This half of the partnership is basically just what I did, but while moving a lot, maybe—being a lookout, too, I guess. Like I said, it’s not much, but, considering your situation, it’ll pass the time." He finished with another knot. The bomb now dangled freely from the arrow; much to Ike's surprise, it stayed sturdy despite the added weight. “Still in?”

Quick knots and quicker maneuvers. "And this is fun," Ike said.

"Your call."

Ike had started to wonder if the unsettlement boiling in the pit of his stomach was that obvious. He wasn’t sure whether to smile in thanks or frown in worry. "Well, compared to other stuff I've done, it sounds like a cakewalk," Ike mused. "Just don't give me the bow."

"You got it," Link replied, beaming. His hand glowed, and in the next instant, there was a patchwork bag in his grip, tied shut at the top with string. He handed the bag to Ike. "And the operation is on. Let’s go!" 

* * *

 

Further ahead, Princess Zelda stood in the wake of Din's Fire. Wide swaths of magic burned fiercely across the titan’s rubble legs, and with all her will Zelda prayed to see the stone disintegrate to ash. But, like all her previous attempts, the flames soon faded into a billow of smoke. The titan continued to swing its massive arms at attackers in the air, seemingly oblivious to anything happening at its feet.

“It’s made of stone,” she muttered. “Of course this wouldn’t have worked.” Feeling the frustration melt into rage, she ignited her hands with magic once more. “But, by the great goddesses, we cannot lose here.” There had to be some other method of attack, something more abstract than brute force.

She saw Pikachu nearby, darting around with nervous electricity crackling in its fur. Perhaps she could focus her efforts elsewhere. The flames on her hands blew away as she called, "Peach! Could you help Pikachu gain altitude? Many of the others seem to be occupied."

“Oh? Oh! Of course!” The other princess quickly Indexed whatever she had been holding (which, to Zelda, looked like a large, white turnip) and promptly brought out her frilled parasol, calling Pikachu to her. With a  _zip_  of electrical energy, the yellow pokémon was at Peach's side. She took it in her free arm and, using the forward momentum from her run, made a great leap into the air while letting her parasol spring open.

Peach's parasol allowed her to rise to great heights easily—the princess and the pokémon were now face to face with the colossus's right shoulder. "Ready!" Peach warned. Pikachu arched its back, preparing an attack. She released her hold on the pokémon, and it fell through the air for a few seconds before bursting forward, propelling itself toward proper footing on the stone soldier. Then Peach floated down, twirling with ease as she landed next to Zelda.

“There,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Hmm. If you could get me to safer ground, I would be grateful,” Zelda answered thoughtfully. “I realized I’ll have to stop acting and start thinking. Perhaps even thinking of the trump card.”

“That sounds exciting.” Peach giggled. “Okay, then. All you have to do is hold on!” Then she took hold of Zelda’s hand and used her parasol to leap great heights once more.

 

Up on the giant's head, another pokémon, Lucario, was hunched behind the mask of violet flame.  The giant’s attempts to throw him off were growing increasingly violent; even with all of his lithe dexterity, Lucario had to dig his claws deep into the cracked stone to keep what little footing there was.

He'd been repeating the same attack on the rock for some time now: he drew one paw back, then thrust it downwards into the rubble, letting loose a burst of energy that exploded in a small radius around it. The immediate area blasted away, revealing nothing else but more stone. While he hadn't caused the titan a great deal of damage, the burst had allowed himself a chance to look for weak points.

He struck the same area again and closed his eyes. The world around him appeared as blue and violet flames: aura, the essence of vitality. A wave shot through the titan that traced every ridge and crevice of its construction. His aura sight confirmed it was indeed a haphazard construction of ruins, and that, mysteriously, no spark of life was animating it.

But then something flickered for a moment in the great emptiness of its core. A light, small and faded, flashed once—then nothing but darkness once more.

The pokémon blinked his ruby eyes. He gazed out at the arms of the titan lunging forward at Charizard, who expertly flew out of its reach and retaliated with a stream of red-hot flames from its mouth. He saw Greninja hopping from one massive shoulder to the other, bringing down tens of large water shuriken at a time, attempting to slice its way through the giant's limbs. Pikachu, too, was helping both pokémon by zipping about at great speeds, acting as a beacon for them to focus their attacks on. So far, some of the rock had crumbled away, but it was barely enough to be called a breach in the colossus's defenses.

 

“And the breach,” Zelda said, shaking her head, “seems to be something I can’t analyze.”

Peach had brought her to a stable pile of rock a short distance away from the bulk of the fighting. Zelda turned to her now, and continued, “The giant’s structure is… something I’ve never seen before.”

“What do you mean?” Peach questioned.

Zelda focused her magic again. A trinity of triangles—the symbol of the Triforce—shone as a golden emblem on her right hand. “It’s made of the very material of the earth. But I see no spell or magical puppet strings allowing it to move. And the twilight fire that’s on its face… I sense nothing in that, either. It is as if there is a…  _void_. What could—”

Then she saw Lucario leaping off the giant’s head, its aura now blazing a bright blue.

“That’s it!” Zelda exclaimed, and she read over the giant’s form again, this time adjusting her focus. And— _yes_! The giant appeared the same as before to her, but now, floating in what she had thought to be empty, was… “The giant isn’t controlled by magic. It’s magic itself!”

Peach tilted her head. “I don’t think I follow. Didn’t you say it’s just rocks?”

“I did, but…” Zelda’s face grew dim. She looked to the colossus with furrowed brows. “I can’t explain now. We have to redirect our attack power as soon as possible.” Her eyes widened as she recognized Lucario heading to where Marth was on the battlefield. “And not a moment too soon! Hurry! This battle won’t see our defeat yet.”

 

Marth paced relentlessly across the battlefield grounds. He'd gotten this far, but the results were an array of tiring fighters and a colossus looking sturdy as ever. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think ahead—every way his plan branched led him and the other smashers deeper into failure. Was this the extent of his abilities? The limit of their power?

"Rhythm! Strike harder with each blow!" He stood amidst the rest of the fighters who were retreating and charging forward, ebbing and flowing with constant barrages on the colossus. His gaze swept over the fighters attacking the giant's massive legs and feet.

His eyes shifted to the right: "Mario! Luigi! Less fire! More physical hits!"

To the left: "Pac-Man! Aim higher! Trainer and Mac are taking care of the heel!"

He lifted his head, surveying the giant's torso. "Mega Man! Pick a spot and stick with it! Princess Rosalina and Kirby will be—"

A rush of wind blew past Marth, and Lucario was suddenly next to him. The pokémon's telepathic abilities allowed him to echo a voice into the other's mind: " _Commander Prince_."

Marth's gaze remained unbroken, though he hesitated to respond. He lowered his voice, but not by much, since it was hard to be heard in the midst of the battle: "What is it?" Then, almost as soon as he had spoken, there was a bright flash of light at his other side.

He stepped away in surprise, but before he could ask _who’s there_ he noticed the wind had carried an earthly scent like wild grass—and that could have only been magic from one particular princess.

“Zelda,” Marth said dourly. “You also have something important to say?”

Lucario quietly stepped aside to let her come forward, but Zelda turned to the pokémon anyway, and asked, “You. What has your aura reading procured?”

Lucario nodded, lifting his paw. A blue, nebulous fire kindled around it. "The heap of ruins before us has barely a trace of aura and I am unable to determine what kind of magic is animating it. It is purely made out of stone… except for one spot of life in the very core of its body. I haven’t been able to sense anything else."

Marth was silent for a few moments. He saw the giant lift its foot slowly, leaning to one side. The foot came crashing down. Mario jumped well out of the giant's way, pulling Luigi along with him. "That would be within its stomach?" Marth said. "If you can call it that."

"At the very center, as most things of this sort are."

“No,” Zelda spoke. “Aim higher. What you saw was the heart—where the heart would beat if this monster were real.”

Lucario’s eyes flashed yellow. “But the only vital point is…”

“Right at the center, I am aware. Except the giant is near-impenetrable—Marth,” Zelda said, prodding him to give her his attention. “I repeat. Aim higher. I’ve seen a crack in the magical defenses that will lead us to destroying the heart.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Marth said to her.

“I am. Unless you wish to doubt Wisdom itself?”

Lucario narrowed his eyes. “There  _is_  a small fissure in the area Princess Zelda speaks of. But I had previously assumed it to be a side effect of the structure it chose to build itself with.”

“I don’t know whether it is our doing, or if it serves some personal purpose, or if it is indeed just as Lucario has said.” Zelda stepped directly in front of Marth so that they stood face-to-face. “But we must act now. Let me guide them where to direct their attacks.”

Marth quickly shook his head. “I don’t need to yield authority for something so simple.” His voice took on an oddly defensive tone. “Can you handle not upstaging me just once?”

Zelda’s expression was serious. “Forget your personal convictions and think of what you’re doing, Marth. The battle has to end  _soon_.”

She was right—right as she always had been for years, and that was what had irritated Marth so deeply. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I remain at the forefront.”

Zelda smiled, faintly smug. “I won’t stop you.”

Marth turned to Lucario. “Shall I?”

The pokémon nodded. Then Marth inhaled sharply, and he prepared to return his voice to its former booming volume.

Whatever command he was going to give was interrupted with a seemingly bulbous arrow narrowly missing his head. It flew at an upwards angle, straight towards the giant's torso. Upon impact, a loud explosion  _boomed_ in a wide flash of reds and yellows.

The titan rocked backwards, then forwards. It heaved a lengthy bellow; Marth took the opportunity to whip around. “ _Can you—_ ” Upon recognizing the two fighters behind him, his voice lost its fury, and instead fell to a muttering. "Of all the people he's dragged with him.”

Ike was handing Link another bomb arrow. The latter of the two noticed the icy glare first. "Calm down, Prancy Pants. I knew you weren't going to get hit," said Link. He loaded the arrow into his bow. "Excuse the lateness. Any orders for us—oh!" He waved. “Hi, Zelda!”

Zelda looked down behind her. “Considering the lack of proper direction, you might as well be considered early.”

“So, uh,” said Ike, staring at the battle in the distance. “You’re having a bit of trouble here, Marth?”

“I assure you, Ike. I’m doing fine. Just fine.” Marth turned to the pokémon next to him with an expression that was contorted into some kind of disgruntled frown. "How long were they there?"

"Not too long," Lucario replied, "but I felt no need to warn you."

"Hm," Marth scoffed. He glanced at the two fighters below him again. "If you two would, I'm about to give an order. A proper one. And hopefully one of the last ones—" He faced the colossus once more, and barked, "HALT! Retreat to base! Retreat to base!"

Mega Man heard first, and he immediately mirrored the command to Rosalina with her Luma and Kirby, who notified Pac-Man and the Trainer—one by one, the fighters ceased their attacks and gathered in front of the prince. Each of them warily watched the colossus, who began to lift its knee as if preparing to walk.

It was moving straight towards them! Marth's next command needed to be concise and direct: "Straight to the heart! We must hit it there!" He waited for the others to ready their attacks.

He had two seconds to decide what to say next. He looked ahead, where the monster had yet to finish its first step, and behind, where the other smashers had given him all their attention, Zelda included.

And he dared. “I’ve… I’ve learned of a weak point. There is a break—three paces high of the very center!”

Ike and Link moved to the back of the group in the brief silence, with the Hylian muttering, "He sure is living the dream."

As Ike moved past he watched Marth with widened eyes. “Wait a minute, weren’t you supposed to let—”

"Ready—CHARGE!" Marth yelled, and the fighters unleashed their power once more. The monster's torso was barraged with burst after burst of energy, blasts of bombs, flares of fire, torrents of water—up close, fist after fist and strike after strike pelted the stone and rubble.

He took glances around him while standing in the midst of the rest of the mob. Pikachu shot white-hot shots of electricity. Mario and Luigi took turns assaulting the titan with spin attacks. He looked back at the colossus. Everyone's combined efforts had stopped it in its tracks, pushing it backwards, and its legs began to carry it back step by harrowing step.

Every single fighter struck out and charged forward again, and again, becoming almost robotic in their motions but remaining at the height of their desire to press on. Marth broke into a proud grin. Finally, he was leading them forward!

But, in the same second, his grin crumpled. Something had knocked him down, leaving blackened scorch marks on one side of his face. It took him a few moments to recover his senses, and he groaned painfully as he stood.

Zelda was standing before him, her expression devoid of emotion. She dispelled the fire from her hands. “Did I not ask you to let me direct them? Did you not agree?”

“Yes,” Marth replied. He lifted a hand to his head to assess the damage, wincing at the feeling of brittle, withered skin.

“And?” Zelda’s voice had suddenly become boomingly loud. Marth wasn’t sure whether she had been using magic to do so.

“And…” Marth looked more annoyed than threatened. “That giant started to move. Then I adapted.”

“ _That_  is your reasoning?” Zelda cried incredulously. “For one thing, you cannot be sure if you’ve aimed at the right—” A sharp  _crack_  rippled through the colossus's exterior. There was a high-pitched, grating shriek that barreled through the air; the colossus had whined.

Marth folded his arms with a triumphant smile, declining to look in Zelda’s direction. “What were you going to say?”

Zelda saw a familiar pale light shimmer over his face—the effects of a regenerative magic native to all trophies. Though Marth’s wounds were still there, the worst of them had already begun to heal. She inhaled sharply, considering using her fire once more, but she said nothing in response.

A bright light now shone through the broken rubble. From it, an endless stream of purple and black flames crawled across the colossal body, inch by inch. Even in the blaze’s thickness the sliver of light shone ever brighter. The stone titan was at the far edge of the island now.

"HOLD!" Marth commanded. "Give it your all! Make the final shots count!" Again, the fighters charged their attacks, but this time they concentrated, focusing into it as much power as their stamina allowed them.

A deep breath passed. This was it. "FIRE!"

Everyone surged forward. They'd aimed directly at the colossus’ heart again, shooting straight at nothing but the broken light—

Then, there was a bright flash. Suddenly, fighters flew back at the same speed they'd charged, and everything else meant to strike the titan  _fizzed_ into nothing. As the smashers hurried to recollect themselves, the giant roared.

"It's a barrier!" Mega Man cried. Flames continued to lick the colossus’ stone body. Indeed, there was a sphere of a faint red now circling it, glimmering with every hit. It appeared to be a wall of energy, impossible to break through.

Marth clenched his teeth. Of all times, why now? Not now! Not when they were so close—

"Quickly! Get back!" Zelda shouted. Marth was surprised to see her suddenly farther away on the battlefield, a little behind the crowd. “ _Hurry!_  It’s moving again!”

Everyone raised their heads upwards to see what she'd been warning about.

The colossus's head was rocking, shaking as if the body would shrug it off any moment and send it rolling towards the fighters, who backed away slowly just as the giant’s body suddenly lurched.

Then its head jerked backwards. Its flame-mask began to wither, smothering the whites of its torchlight eyes. A deep and low thunder rumbled as stones and rocks broke away from each other and fell away down, down towards the clouds. The barrier surrounding it flickered out of sight.

Had they actually done it? "You heard her! Fall back! Fall back!" Marth yelled, and all of the fighters retreated towards the center of the island. They watched the colossus slowly crumble before them, its head rolling over backwards, roaring as it fell away. Then the rest of its body imploded, a multitude of broken ruin and rock tumbling over the edge of the floating island all at once.

Then, all was still. Marth watched the air with wide eyes, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, until slowly, silently, he brought his arm out to the side: a signal for the others to wait.

Seconds passed. No words were spoken. Only the sound of the wind remained.

“That’s it,” Zelda murmured.

"Oh, Great Founders…" Peach spoke softly. "I think we've won."

An immense, almost deafening, cheer rang throughout the island.

“I—I can’t believe that worked!” Little Mac cried. “I thought we were done for!”

The Trainer nodded beside him. “Your disbelief is within reason. There was a minimal chance this result would occur.”

Near them, Mega Man jumped in joy. “Yeah! I never thought my first ever battle would be like this!”

Ike stood wide-eyed amidst the cheer. “I don’t think I’ve ever fought anything doing absolutely nothing and won.”

“You sure did a great job,” Link said to him, barely concealing the full brightness of his smile. “Thanks for sticking around.”

Ike returned the smile, though it was considerably smaller. “Yeah. You too.”

Mario and Luigi twirled and leapt triumphantly, exchanging hi-fives. Beside them, Kirby, Pac-Man, and Luma danced and cheered together, Rosalina’s smile upon all of them silent but gentle.

Charizard flapped its wings, roaring, and Greninja trilled happily beside it. Pikachu hopped among them with bursts of electricity. Lucario, nodding proudly, echoed his telepathy towards his fellow pokémon: “Well done, everyone.”

It all sounded as if the battlefield, with all its sudden energy, had been surrounded with spectators the whole time. Every smasher's heart swelled with pride in themselves and their peers. They were triumphant—and, like teammates, they came together with relieved sighs and happy exclamations.

There were, of course, questions. There sprung remarks of what a strange work of evil that had been; whispers of where such a thing could have come from; ponderings of what its sudden appearance foretold of the future. But no answer was definite enough to carry the weight of all the worry, and so many of the questions melted away, forgotten temporarily.

No, now was the time to celebrate—to bask in praise and to give it freely, and to be reminded of burning ever brighter when side by side and locked in combat. The sun shone at its apex in the sky, and the scene was once more peaceful and festive.

* * *

 

"Whoa—heeey! Incomiiiing!" a voice yelled.

Ike, having finally found some alone time, barely turned around when Pit crashed into him at full speed. The angel tumbled over Ike's head and landed some ways off, grunting loudly.

The Trainer, being the closest nearby, hurried to lift Pit up by one arm. "Your wings are on fire," she commented. Her artificial-sounding voice emanated no hint of alarm. "It is advised to douse them as soon as possible." Pit’s wings were, indeed, engrossed in bright orange flames, but their heat hadn’t left searing burns on his skin, nor had they even burned the fabric of his tunic. In fact, the Trainer noted, the fire was cool to the touch. “There are no established instructions for this kind of combustion. In this case, at least, your muscles must not exceed their limit.”

Pit wobbled as she held him upright. "Urgh… no worries. I think? That's just a thing my wings do."

Ike sat up, bitterly rubbing one side of his face. "You're the angel... I thought you were on the train.” He narrowed his eyes at Pit. “You do know the party’s already over, right?”

Pit shifted himself around in the Trainer’s grasp to see Ike’s cross expression. " _FYI,_ I wasn't on the train. I—I had a party of my own to take care of, and, uh…” his voice faltered, as he had become aware of a small crowd of fighters nearing him, some of them voicing mild concern.

Deciding Ike wasn’t worth dealing with, Pit stood straighter, straining to put on a stronger face. He thanked the Trainer and smiled through his teeth to the crowd once she had left him alone. "Hey there, folks! I'm back. I was just, uh, running late, temporary wings and all. Don’t worry about me, just keep doing your thing!” To his relief, some of the small group began to disperse.

Only Rosalina, Mario, and Peach stayed behind. “Are you sure you’re all right, dear?” Peach questioned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He did say he was going to see the committee,” Rosalina said. “Perhaps…”

“Oh, no!” Mario cried, jumping forward. “Did the committee see what happened? Is everything a-okay?”

“Uh, well.” Pit frowned. “Yes?” He shook his head quickly and craned his neck upwards as if searching for someone. "I mean, not to delay suspense or anything, but, uh, is Prince Marth anywhere on the field?"

"Over there." Rosalina pointed toward the titan's remains at the edge of the island. She gave him a worried glance. “I can see your expression is still ladled with fear.”

Pit blinked hard a few times. He scrunched up his face—did he really seem that bad? "No, I’m just usually not, uh, late.” He exhaled sharply. "Anyway, I’ve got to hurry over there before I… before I head back over to the Coliseum. Thanks for the help!"

Rosalina's expression softened. "You're quite welcome." She waved him goodbye, and Peach and Mario joined her a few beats after.

To Pit, their concern had mostly disappeared, which brought a wide grin to his face. “Thanks again! And take care, Princess Peach and Mario!” Returning the others’ wave, he turned to leave.

As the angel dashed away towards the end of the island Ike observed him carefully. “Things just keep piling for me today,” he muttered. Something was wrong. Very, very, wrong. The mercenary had seen many a liar put on bravado before, and Pit, who also owed him a proper apology, was no different.

 

The brief burst of adrenaline was already beginning to take its toll on Pit's legs; he was breathing hard when he reached Marth's side. "Hey, uh, sorry to bother you, Marth…" His voice faltered when he took in the sight before him: heaps of rocks and dirt strewn across the ground, some of the broken rubble washed over in a faint red glow.

Marth turned to the angel with raised brows. "Oh, Pit. News from the committee?"

"What happened here?" Pit asked breathlessly. “And what happened to your face?”

The prince glanced back at the giant's remains, subconsciously brushing his hand against his still-darkened burn marks. He made a mental note to get it fully healed later. "This… this monolith appeared out of nowhere. It became  _this,_ " Marth gestured to the pile of ruin, "when we broke through it. The rest of it fell to the earth.”

Pit picked up a rock to inspect its ghastly corona. His eyes went wide. "No way. This can’t be…"

"Pit!" someone called. "Where the  _heck_  have you been?" Both the angel and Marth turned to see Link heading towards them. His bow and quiver disintegrated into glowing dust as he moved.

Pit's gaze fell downwards. "Um."

"Right…” Marth said. “I've also been wondering that. You seem as if have something grave to say, Pit."

Link flicked his gaze between the other two, worry coming over his face. "Did... something else go wrong—Marth! Your face—”

“Ignore it. They’re just minor, ah…” Marth winced. “ _Royal pains_.”

“By that, you mean…” Link raised his eyebrows at him.

Before Marth could reply Pit lifted his head again. "I’m, uh, on a mission, you know. It’s kind of a lot to explain and it’s a  _liiiiiittle_ top secret.”

“So am I to speak with you privately?” Marth asked.

Pit nodded.

"What? Privately?" Link took a step back. "Pit, you look like you've been to the gates of The Vault and lived to tell the story and—" he paused, realizing he'd raised his voice. "It's not something really bad, is it? Like… another world takeover."

Pit smiled, but the distress slowly setting into his expression was clear. "Not  _exactly_ another world takeover," he admitted. "Yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote translated from here on breaddit:  
> http://www.reddit.com/r/smashbros/comments/2qvwwp/really_long_japanese_interview_with_sakurai_needs/
> 
> Now that I'm heavily editing these for content to follow with the redirected plot, I'd like to say I referenced a lot of older headcanons and worldbuilding attempts I'd done before but never finished. For example, the exchange between Link and Ike was admittedly rephrased from an earlier draft for another, different story—so I guess everything works out alright in the end.


	4. III-A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are unable to reach a definite conclusion of the origin and evolution of magic, or how it ties into the etheric energy of all life, but we can conclude that magic is will. When creation first willed, magic was born."  
> —Prof. E.G, "On the Study of Magic"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was supposed to be chapter three ended up surpassing around 9k words, so I chopped it into pieces. other than that, enjoy! we're getting introduced to a new character today! (I also heard Meta Knight is confirmed for Smash 4, which totally confirms this as canon. yeah.)

To the north of the Midair Stadium, there was a real city in the clouds—Skyworld, as others had called it since olden times. A small section of the city had been set apart for a few years as a battle location for smashers, which brought many newcomers to the area. Such newcomers would often stand still for a few moments, basking in the hues of pink and orange that glazed over the clouds and the paved walkways. The city’s marble pillars and buildings, while they had long grown out of modern use, remained immaculate on their small islands—perfectly cut bricks glistening with morning sun, laid intricately by the hands of those long departed.

The most magnificent of these was the Temple of Palutena: a shrine dedicated to the goddess of light herself. She had always been proud of its magnitude—the statue displaying her image, positioned so that her form, powerful and frozen in the midst of a graceful wind, would be visible from every corner of the city. The Temple was her own creation; a design she'd put forth after her ascension to divinity and subsequent coronation as both ruler of the sky and guardian of light.

The creation of the Temple led to the beginning of many of Pit's lone adventures far and wide across the earth, sometimes leaving Smashworld’s borders to combat impending doom. But Smashworld was still home; no matter how many sights he had reveled in, Skyworld would always be the place Pit thought the most beautiful.

Not even the once-hidden Palace in the Sky, which was much higher and dwarfed Skyworld’s amount of beauty by tens of thousands, could convince him otherwise.

After all, the Palace was something they inherited rather than made. Although he had resided there for as long as he could remember—and Palutena probably much longer than he—it was no secret that the Palace belonged to the Elder Aether spirits that had roamed when the earth was new, and Palutena's rights to it were solely by title.

To most smashers, the Palace was little other than a place name, but few land-dwellers possessed any actual memories of it. It had only recently been integrated into Smashworld as a floating mass of land—Palutena had authorized it as more a test of power than anything obligatory, though some centurion groundlings spread the rumor that it was to boost a nonexistent economy.

Regardless, the Palace was brought into this realm, remade anew, and Pit would often be studying the so-called "unearthed" stone pillars and statues of unsung heroes spread across the new outskirts of the Palace. They were cracked a little more than those of the world below, but their presence emitted a sense of warm nostalgia; it was not unlike returning home after a long trip.

And his beloved Lady Palutena  _would_ have felt at home in the present moment if she hadn’t been witnessing a string of disasters for the past hour.

She stood now in front of the magical reflecting pool deep within the Palace; although she usually focused it on Pit in order to aid him, she could also view various events at Smashworld as they happened, second by second. Consequently, she had been able to view the moment the colossus appeared over the smashers on that island, and she’d immediately switched her focus to Pit in order to warn him of the danger.

However, Pit would learn about the colossus much later, because Palutena had become aware of another danger that was, by far, even more alarming.

 

Smashers still reveled in their recent victory on the floating battlefield, but all the jubilation had been sucked out of the air where Pit was standing, the two others in front of him wincing at the sudden emptiness. “Yet,” Marth spoke slowly, as if he were mulling the concept over in his mind. “The world is in peril, but not  _yet_. What makes you say that?”

Pit began to reply, but a gruff voice cut him off with, “It better be a good reason, too, because you’ve got a  _lot_  of talking to do.” The angel paled visibly upon recognizing the voice, making both Link and Marth turn around.

“Ike,” Marth said sternly, “Please, don’t make a crowd.” Ike said nothing as he continued to trudge over, which prompted Marth to continue. “…What I mean is that very soon, Pit may need to be explaining himself to  _everyone_.”

It seemed as if Ike would begin to grumble, but instead he spoke steadily, pointing behind him: “He’s already made a fool of himself in front of  _that_  crowd."

"Look who's talking," Pit grumbled.

Ike ignored him, crossing his arms at the prince. "He doesn’t have to tell everyone. I just need to know what  _you_  mean by world peril and what  _he_  means by ‘not yet.’”

Marth’s expression flashed concern. “What’s making you so insistent?”

“I think he said he was homesick,” Link said.

Ike shook his head. “No, never mind that. I just need to know what in blazes is even going on. Like where it’s happening and why  _this_  sack of feathers—” and he glared daggers at Pit, “—flew into me saying he’s had his share of the whole blasted thing.”

“Bug off!” Pit snarled. “I don’t have to tell you anything, jerk!”

Link stretched an arm in front of the angel. “Easy, bud. People might come here and you’ll  _really_  have to tell everyone.”

“Actually, he won’t have to,” said a distinctly female voice. Its abruptness made all four whip their heads to the right. A radiant light was shining down from the heavens, and in its wake, a divine woman stood before them, draped in white robes and golden ornaments. Her green hair alighted behind her, indicating she’d appeared only a few moments ago.

“Lady Palutena!” Pit cried at the goddess. “What are you—?”

She lifted a hand to stop him. “Forgive me for the curtness, Pit, but my first concerns are about the other smashers. Are they okay?”

Marth, realizing he was in the presence of divinity, bowed his head immediately. “Goddess. I will speak for everyone here, if your grace would allow it?”

“As you wish, but no need to be so formal.” Palutena replied. Her voice was a charismatic swing, genuine and warm—fitting, for the goddess of light. “For one thing, I feel you must be more comfortable speaking normally, and for the other, I'm technically invisible outside a few feet of here.”

"Light refraction," Pit commented. "I’ve never seen you do that before!"

“That’s because you couldn’t,” Palutena said with a wink.

“I see.” Marth stood up straight, slightly red in the face. "I'll, ah, keep your low-profile in mind.” He glanced beyond at the large battlefield behind them; the smashers were strolling about, some idly sitting, but since being given the order to wait they seemed patient enough. “Everyone is all right, to my knowledge. There are other smashers on the way to the Halberd Airship, though, so I can’t account for them.”

“I broke off my connection to Pit to check,” said Palutena. “They’ve already boarded the ship and are doing fine, as far as I can see.” She gave a tight-lipped smile. “In any case, I should introduce myself briefly. I'm sure you have all heard of me from Pit, but please, call me Palutena. I’ve been watching you all face off against the monolith—I believe _that_  battle was handled well, thanks to Prince Marth.” The prince nodded eagerly, no longer feeling a need to be stiff. She turned to Ike. “My congratulations are also extended to you, fair swordsman—?”

“You can just call me Ike,” the mercenary stated.

“I’ll remember that, Ike.” Then she turned to Link, her eyes brightening. “And I see Link’s still in good spirits.”

The green-clad swordsman smiled cheekily in response, waving. "This is the first time I'm seeing you outside Skyworld!"

"I hope that's a good thing," said Palutena.

"Lady Palutena!" Pit stumbled forward and held out a piece of the titan’s rubble; the red glow was faintly visible, surrounding the rock in a halo. “I don’t know if this matters, but, the color of this rock kinda worries me…”

The goddess took it silently, turning it over in her hands. Her expression darkened. “I hoped I wasn’t right, but it seems more likely with each passing moment.” She handed the rubble back to the angel. “Thank you, Pit. Could you take it with you? I think I should call a few centurions to move the island.”

“The whole island!?” Pit exclaimed incredulously. He added a sheepish, “Er, not that I doubt you or anything.”

Palutena giggled. “I’m kidding. I’m only planning to take you.”

Marth cleared his throat. “My lady.” The goddess blinked at him expectantly. “Have you also looked into what the committee is doing at the moment? They’re terribly past schedule.”

Palutena hesitated, though it went undetected. “Let me check—” She closed her eyes, remained quiet for a few moments, and then she lifted her head, heaving a sigh. “They’re doing what they can at the moment, but it seems they could only send the Halberd to take you all to the underground safe keeping.”

“Oh, so that's how everything fits in. Then I'll let everyone else here know and get them sorted out,” said Marth.

“All by yourself?” Ike asked.

“Of course," he replied. "I'm finding large-scale projects are almost terribly well within my field."

Some of the expressions directed Marth's way were doubtful, but Palutena seemed to relax. She nodded. “Very good! That's all from me, for now. I'll personally visit the Halberd later myself.” Then she held her arm out; her hand shimmered yellow, and a bright orb flew out from it. It materialized into a staff colored brilliantly blue with golden embellishments on its wings. At the top was a clear sphere, which began to pulse with light. “Have angel, will travel—”

“Uh, not to delay you, Palutena,” Ike interrupted—Palutena lowered her staff, and the light radiating from it ceased. He stepped forward, making it clear that he was serious. “But Cupid here still owes me an explanation.”

“Hey!” Pit growled, though he hoped no one saw the sweat dotting his forehead. “I said I was sorry!”

Ike scowled at him. “All you did was run off with some half-baked excuse.” He folded his arms, baring his teeth slightly enough to make Pit cringe. “I didn't go through all this trouble to get nothing out of it.”

Marth was idly watching elsewhere, as if doing so was better than listening. Palutena arched an eyebrow at the prince, then at the other three; she thought to defer Ike’s stubbornness since she'd rather not see Pit get into a fight now, but she had her own ideas about how to handle the smashers later, and Ike looked like an opportunity to observe. She said nothing.

Link decided to intervene, rushing in between the angel and the mercenary. Turning to Ike with palms held up defensively, he said, “Okay, really! I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I don’t think whatever trouble Pit caused is that important.”

Pit leaned to one side, anxious to move away and completely oblivious to his friend’s intentions. “Oh, it's definitely important,” he stated, and both swordsmen shot him similar angry looks.

The angel ran a hand through his brown hair, realizing he hadn't heard properly. He paled. "No! I mean, yeah, the part where I had landing problems was just bad luck.” He knit his brows. “But, um, I'm kind of busy at the moment, Ike. Maybe I'll just write you a nice letter later?”

“A- _ha_ ,” Palutena gasped suddenly. Pit jumped; he’d momentarily forgotten she was there. “I’ve got it!” The other three whipped their attention to her; even Marth had broken his distant gaze. “You're right, Pit, you  _are_  busy. But I hope you don’t mind doing me an extra favor?”

Pit, relieved, brandished his fists in a display of gusto. “Oh, anything! Just name the deed and it’ll be done. I'll get the super special stationery for this!”

“No, not yet. But I’m glad to see you’re always up and ready to go.” Palutena looked to Ike, nodding at him. “Ike, I apologize for Pit’s insolence. I believe he does owe you an apology, as well as an explanation.”

Pit grimaced. “Uh—”

“ _Which_  is why,” she continued in a tone warranting no opposition, “I’m going to ask my faithful captain of the guard to take you with him.”

Both Ike and Pit stumbled backwards, but Pit’s mouth was agape, babbling: “Whoawhoawhoawhoa, wait, you want me to—”

“Quickly!” Palutena urged. “And make it a firm grip, too. I might not be able to save him if you let him drop.”

Pit’s wings drooped to his sides. How, in the name of everything that was blessed, was  _he_  supposed to carry a smasher that towered several heads above him? “I... guess I could... try.”

“Hold on, Palutena,” Link protested. “Can't you just warp them if you’re going through all that trouble? Besides, I don't want Pit to fend for himself.”

Palutena’s eyes widened. “Oh... then I suppose I should apologize for Pit making you feel obligated to do things, Link, but he can hold his own without help. Sometimes." She didn’t react to Pit’s surly protest. "In any case, warping non-celestials takes a lot of magic, and I'd rather have leverage with time and resources.” The goddess had an impish grin Link had first seen long ago—one she would use right before declaring some irrevocable checkmate.

He saw it and he persisted anyway. "But you  _have_  to be using some kind of powers on him, since he can barely carry anything twice his size," he said. "So one or two extra passengers wouldn't be any different." Link rocked on his feet, tilting his head ever so slightly. “ _Besides_ , your faithful captain of the guard is about to get prepped for a serious briefing on the end of the world as we know it. I mean, I can just give him moral support—” His eyes flicked in Ike’s direction. “—and if  _he_  obviously doesn’t want to do it, then someone’s got to.”

"Sharp." Palutena scrutinized the cerulean sparkles of Link’s eyes; she tapped a finger on her chin. "Well, I do know any living being happens to be receptive to a simple Lightweight. I guess it's really whatever Pit wants to do.”

Pit’s gaze wavered from the goddess to each of the swordsmen. Palutena’s expression wasn't readable, but Link’s was; his eyebrows were raised, and he was seeming to bounce on his toes, almost pleading with the angel in some kind of over-the-top charisma. Ike, on the other hand, only watched with bitterly acrid eyes—a stare that drove Pit to make his mind up very quickly.

“Uh, I…” Pit flapped his wings a few times. “I've never actually seen Lightweight used on other people. But if you say so, I'm totally fine. I could use the extra… help?"

“Whatever you say,” agreed Palutena, whose magical abilities were an enigma even to Pit. She extended her arm forward and snapped. Pit’s wrist cuffs took on a whitish glow, and suddenly they shot out chains as bright as the sun that winded themselves around the bodies of the other two swordsmen. With no time for either of them to protest, they watched the chains shimmer and rattle against each other before evanescing from view, leaving a ghostly string of light tying the three smashers together.

Ike shuddered. The whole experience was painless unlike his expectations, but the thought of  _this is definitely a chain and I’m being cuffed to something_  hadn’t ceased to make him uncomfortable. “What is this supposed to do, again?”

“Goddess’ blessings,” Palutena said amusedly. “Just something to keep you from falling to your doom. And a little something to keep Pit's arms from falling off."

Pit’s eyes bulged. “ _Falling off?”_  He paled, noticing magic begin to stir in Palutena’s staff.

Link grasped at the shackles he imagined to be there though he saw nothing. Looking up, he saw Palutena prepare her flight power. “Uh oh,” he muttered.

Ike looked at the Hylian with beads of sweat dotting his forehead; the comment only served to deepen his worry of what was to come.

“Lady Palutena, you mean you weren't—” Pit had started to say, but a light burst from Palutena’s staff, and Pit’s wings burned the same full and healthy blue as the orb pulsed. He yelped.

“What did you expect? It’s only a light weight. They’re in your hands for now,” Palutena said brightly. “Literally!” The great goddess of light swung her staff upwards, and Pit was sent hurtling through the clouds with two swordsmen divinely tethered to him like tails to a kite.

 

On the ground, Marth and the goddess waited for the chorus of screaming to fade away before they turned their gazes away from the sky.

“I’m surprised you went along with their strange ideas,” said the prince, “especially when we could be doing something to deal with this problem.”

“Don’t worry one bit. I’ve got good plans,” Palutena said.

“Then I trust you’ll take care of them?” Marth was fixing flyaway strands of his cobalt hair. Something had started to make him uneasy. “I don’t know Pit very well, but I do know he’s got quite a handful—both literally and figuratively.”

“Hmm…” Palutena closed her eyes, opening them a few moments later. “Pit seems like he’ll be managing okay. I really couldn't do anything to help his workload, but I needed to get him moving soon.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you want them back afterwards?” She’d sounded as if the three smashers were children the prince was to be held accountable for.

He paused to breathe, finding the anxious feeling was only momentary. “They’re not  _my_  responsibility, anyway. Unless whatever they're doing is something I should know about.”

Palutena was silent. “No,” she said finally, “I think I'll be back within the hour, so I’ll speak to you myself later. In the meantime, I must be off. Someone’s got to watch over those three.”

“I understand,” he replied.

Then the goddess vanished, leaving the prince by himself. He’d be free of duty for now, and he would have time to move as he wished, for once.

“Now to see about healing these burns…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the beginning notes unchanged from their original publication, but I replaced the summary with the new quote gimmick I'm starting.  
> Thanks twitter for ganging the E. Gadd train on me.........


	5. III-B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A name!" Prime Mario exclaimed, rubbing his chin. "It needs a name."  
> "Something to tie this world to the last," Prime Samus said.  
> And the Coliseum was truly born.  
> — from B., "The Annotated Historia"

In the skies above, all was still.

Then Pit roared through, wings ablaze.

There was no pervading yell escaping him—no use in that. He had a lot to worry about, anyway. Like the fact that he was shackled to two grown smashers that, although they were not below him, weighed his wrists down like iron blocks. Or like the fact that he had to avoid passing out mid-flight from the breakneck speed his wings were taking him.

All the while he thought  _Whywhywhywhy didn't I say no?! I'm finished, I'm so finished._ But the air kept rushing by and he was left to waiting for Palutena’s orders. So he turned his head ever so slightly to the side and dared to open his mouth.

“Are—” he yelled, but the wind was forced from him, and he grit his teeth. He tried again, using some strength—admittedly, of the magical sort—to call out at least one phrase: “Are you guys—are you okay?”

Ike had been gripped by a fierce paralysis, clinging to his shirt since the chains, though visible now, were still incorporeal. On hearing Pit he blinked, moving his jaw as if unsure of his ability to reply. “I’m—this is insane.” He wasn’t sure if Pit even heard him, so he said nothing further.

But Pit did hear—since he was an angel, air rushing past his ears didn’t pose as much of a hearing problem as it did the others. “I’ve been through worse!”

“But this—” Link called. “Where does this fall in?”

“The ‘kind of like a bad burrito’ category,” Pit yelled back, his voice cracking somewhere in the sentence.

Although the angel moved quickly and steadily enough to keep Ike and Link from swinging wildly, he felt just about ready to throw up.

The only thing keeping him from doing so was Palutena’s sudden telepathic voice, ringing in the angel’s mind. “ _Pit! Are you alright?”_  

Pit managed to make a squeamish whine, but he wished it were more... angry.

“ _Sounds normal_.  _I_   _apologize for the small inconvenience, but at least everyone's together, right?_ "

“Yeah,” Pit wheezed. “Everything’s going great. Not like I’m going to lose my limbs or anything.”

“You _better_ not!” Ike shouted, thinking Pit was talking to himself.

Pit glanced at his wrists. “Aye aye, captain…”

Link looked down, hoping to spot land through the occasional breaks in the clouds. He was starting to wish he stayed at home and sent his registration electronically over The Grid. “Hang in there, Pit,” he cheered. “You can do it! ...But if your arms _do_ fall off—”

“MY ARMS ARE NOT GOING TO FALL OFF!” Pit screamed with such energy that the clouds surrounding him at that moment ripped apart, leaving a sizable hole. “And—and Lady Palutena…”

Something made him falter. There was a sudden bile rising in his throat—he realized he didn’t have the ability to keep the air around him static enough to speak. So he finished in a hasty “Nevermind” and resorted to silence, counting on an apology definitely happening later.

 _“Lady Palutena says you’re welcome.”_ When there was no reply, her telepathy hummed with the sound of her sighing. _“_ _Oh. It seems you don’t have enough magic to communicate back anymore.”_ She cleared her throat. _“Not a problem! I’ll be just taking you all to the Palace, since it’ll be easier to show you everything there. Good to see you haven’t dropped our, er, cargo. Allow me to speed up your trip a bit.”_

The sea of clouds surrounding the trio started to blur and the air blew at them even harder. They were going faster now!  _“I promise you won’t melt into puddles once this is through!”_

Pit idly acknowledged that blacking out could happen to him very easily at this point. This was the speed that slammed G-Force in his face. But now it felt tougher, like the air was denser, and the very friction of it felt like it could probably rip his feathers out sooner than burn them off. At least, he thought, he had plenty of adrenaline, and he was rather glad, even though he was beginning to dread the rolling sickness he’d feel once this was through.

Soon, a large, white door could be seen behind the white tufts still thick in front of them; it seemed to hang there in the sky, suspended by an unknown magic. “ _There we go,”_ Palutena announced. “ _Palace straight ahead! I’ll meet you at the reflecting pool whenever you all are ready.”_ Then, still some ways away, the ancient-looking door swung outwards with a  _rrrrrrrrrumble_ despite there being no ground for it to grind against. When Pit arrived he zoomed through the entrance with the two swordsmen trailing behind him, and the door shut behind him, once more rumbling and grumbling against nothing.

It was not long before landforms appeared. Scattered throughout the sky were small islands of floating stone, paltry and unassuming in their looks. Stacked on them were pillars, multitudes of them drifting as bluish shadows, and behind them a mass larger still. Details emerged from the fog with each passing second—the mass now appeared like a giant edifice of white—and then the trio finally arrived at the entrance walkway to the palace, welcomed by floating temple parts and an empty atmosphere.

By now Pit’s wings were blazing orange again; both he and the world he saw slowed to an easy glide as he neared the stone, allowing the two swordsmen to land easily before the flames fizzed away. He dropped to the ground, completely exhausted, and the other two, a little apart from him, had trouble catching their breaths.

Ike found his voice, but he huffed between words. “We were—we were asking you what was going on—Is this how you always travel?”

Pit turned his head so his voice wouldn’t be muffled; otherwise, he remained sprawled out on his stomach. His voice cracked often while he spoke. “Um. Not that fast. Not while carrying people. This is all Lady Palutena.” His cuffs began to glow, and the chains of light flashed for a few moments, then faded away soundlessly.

“So she also cut the sound just when you were starting to go faster than—than some kind of space jet,” Ike said bitterly.

“No, that was me… but I’m about as good at an angel’s magic as Sonic is at swimming. I am flightless, after all.”

Elaborate marble columns lined the paved road to the Palace in the Sky. Like most of the other structures, they were a creamy white—a little frosted over, since the temperatures of high altitude usually brought cold winds to the area. Up ahead, the palace itself stood proud and tall, venerable and exquisite in the way it testified to the higher powers that rested within.

Normally, Pit arrived here via Palutena’s recall, but it always transported him to the heart of the interior. He’d never gotten to come here through the so-called proper entrance, so he savored the experience. Or, at least he wished he could, but his head was throbbing, his arms had reduced to limp rubber, and he wasn’t sure what his stomach would be doing when he found enough strength to get up. The Palace appeared more like a safe haven at the moment, and Pit longed to crawl inside.

“Maybe a little over-exertion was risky on my end…” Pit muttered. “But I’m home sweet home, and that’s good for me.”

“Why go so far in the first place?” Ike asked, shaking the vertigo from his head.

Pit grimaced.  _All this guy ever has for me is criticism!_  “Practice makes perfect?” he answered lamely.

Link mustered the energy to stand. He was still a little shaken, and he had to breathe evenly to keep his balance. “Whew. That was some practice. Seriously.” He shivered against a sudden biting wind. ”Whatever new weight lifting routines you’re doing are a real miracle-worker.”

“Oh, really? It’s nothing new,” said Pit, genuinely coy. “Just a lot of self-motivation mantras.”

“Then all the self-mantra-ing looks like it worked! If self-mantra-ing is a word,” said Link. “Anyway, looks like my legs aren’t rubber anymore. Might want to get moving before they turn solid instead.” He bounded over to help the fatigued angel. “Think you could help me out, Ike?”

The mercenary drew out a long sigh. “Yeah, sure. Let me just—” he rose, being careful not to stand up too quickly. He shook his head a few times to rid himself of the dizziness, hoping there was still adrenaline in his veins to keep him warm. “—I’ll be over there in a second.” Once Ike had made his way over to Pit, he and Link each took an arm and hoisted the angel onto his feet. Pit attempted to use the other two as supports to no avail, although his pushing caused Ike to stagger under the weight somewhat.

“Whoa, there, Pit. Lean over this way,” said Link, cocking his head in the direction opposite the mercenary. Pit obliged, and the three of them finally began trudging forward.

They had to stop every few steps to shift Pit’s weight, and Ike had noticed that even the clouds rolled overhead at a faster speed than the three of them were moving. "All this for a simple explanation," he said.

Pit looked too tired to argue. "Honestly, I didn't know how."

"Then you could've just said so," Ike replied, mildly annoyed.

"A little too late for that, buddy," Pit groaned.

Shifting the weight of Pit’s arm a little, Link frowned. “Weren’t you being so pushy about getting your little explanations in the first place, Ike? You’re getting them now.”

Ike growled. “And this is so much better than just speaking to us upfront.”

“Well…” Link trailed off as if deep in thought. Then he looked behind him with a hint of a smile. “You could stay behind. It’ll probably be a while ‘till we get back. The edge of the island’s over that way, though. You could totally get a head start and Pit and I can join you on the ground later!”

“…I don’t think I’ll play that game, thanks,” Ike said, opting to keep his eyes ahead. Despite the trio’s slow speed, the end of the walkway was approaching them all too eagerly now.

Link chuckled. “Okay, but don’t hesitate to move if you change your mind. Hey—” he was looking at the stone scenery surrounding the walkway. “—I wonder when all these statues and stones and pillars got transported here. I thought you guys just moved in and out of random doors in the sky.”

The three were at the doors of the Palace, which were noticeably much taller than they were wide. They had a certain reflective quality about them; they shone different colors when one viewed them through various angles, and their handles were two large rings made of gold, one on each door.

“All this stuff is committee-requested. Lady Palutena says she just found them lying around in the Palace basement, wherever  _that_  is,” said Pit. “Which is sweet anyway, ‘cause I’ve always wanted a front porch!”

Link reached out and pulled at one of the handles, opening the door with a little effort. “And a big front porch you got.” He pushed the door all the way so that the handle was touching the outer wall of the Palace. Warm air swelled around him when he peeked inside, and he prodded the other two to hurry along. “Jeez. If only it was as cozy out there as it is in here.”

“My, uh, life teaches me a lot of things. Like how it gets colder the higher up you go.” Then Pit coughed, causing Link to look worriedly behind him. Once the three of them had all stepped into the Palace, Ike shut the door, preventing any chillier breeze from entering.

Pit coughed again. “Whoa,” Link admonished. “You sound like you’re going to be sick any moment.”

The angel huffed in response, stubbornness setting his mouth into an exaggerated pout. “Angels don’t  _get_  sick. They don’t get cold, either,” he retorted, albeit now his voice was beginning to sound more like a croak.

The interior of the Palace complimented Palutena’s divinity as stars compliment a moonlit sky; its polished marble floors beheld great, magnificent pillars that were bathed in a lurid glow of pale sunlight. Ether lamps were riveted high up on the walls, washing the goddess’s domain in bright blues, deep reds and faint purples. There was a set of large doors at the far end of the massive hall, flanked by other, smaller doors leading to what seemed to be elsewhere in the palace. Closer to the middle of the area, the hall branched out into left and right wings.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Ike asked, his deadpan tone making Pit roll his eyes.

The angel motioned his head to the left. “I think I just overdid myself a little. I’ll be fine. Trust me! I just need some water, maybe—” His wings flapped suddenly, as if something had excited him. “ _Water!_  There’s a hot spring two doors down over there!" It took Pit several seconds to realize the other two were staring at him skeptically. "No, really. There’s a nice heated pool filled with what the celestials call _aqua vita._ You guys could... just drop me off and I’ll be able to breathe easy a bit.”

“A hot spring,” Ike said as he turned towards the left branch of the hall, albeit his skepticism was blatant.

“Of course!” Pit exclaimed, sounding offended. “Always helps out in a pinch. I’ll be at max health in seconds—” he winced at the soreness in his arms. The two swordsmen shared a brief look of confusion, and then made effort to speed their pace in response.

Link let out a disgruntled sigh, but a smile was returning to his countenance. "Live by your whole health points system all you want, but you’ll be completely done for if you keep talking."

Pit kept his eyes on what lay ahead. "My lips are sealed.”

 

The hot spring was a rectangular pool several feet deep into the floor. It had been filled to the brim with a steaming liquid that had a particularly yellow iridescence to it. Pit, adamant in keeping his angel’s tunic on, had enough strength to lower himself down into the water; he let out a long and happy sigh as he did so. “ _That_  hits the spot, nice and easy. If I hadn’t been so pooped I’d be doing cannonballs into here!”

“You wouldn’t be here in the first place,” said Ike, crossing his arms. "Especially since whatever we came here for is apparently important."

Pit mimicked the mercenary’s movements indignantly. “There’s always time for hot springs.”

Contrary to Ike's assumptions about the contents of the pool, a distinctly sweet aroma filled the room. He lowered an arm into the spring, raising his eyebrows at the rejuvenating energy that flowed freely around his hand. " _Aqua vita,_ huh. I guess you have a point," he said.

Link was looking around the room. “So…why’d you drop us off here of all places, anyway?”

“That,” Pit said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I dunno. I should probably take you all there now—the reflecting pool, I mean.” He beat his wings in one swift circle, having suddenly realized something. “Lady Palutena’s waiting for us!” He leapt up from the water, his energy apparently restored. To the surprise of the other two, his white clothes weren’t soaked. “Follow me!” he called, dashing past Ike and Link and out of the room.

They hurried across the great hall towards the opposite wing. It ended in a twisty passageway lined with white pillars adorned with golden vines that snaked around the eroded rock. The ceiling had been cut away here, creating a skylight over the path. A vibrant shade of blue greeted the three smashers from above as they slowed to a walk.

Ike craned his neck to see where the sun was shining. “It’s already past noon,” he observed, though he sounded reluctant to do so.

“Aw, man!” Pit cried. “I totally forgot about lunch!” The trio followed the path where it led to a brick-walled corridor, the skylight path preceding it being the only source of light. Pit perked his head up and motioned for the other two to hasten their paces. “Oh! It’s down this way!”

“Lunch?” Link called to the angel ahead of him.

“No, that’s back over—” Pit stopped in his tracks, realizing the question had been sarcastic. “…Sure, yeah. Tables and tables full of food. Why don’t you eat the entire Palace while you’re at it?”

“Hey now, you got me there,” the hero admitted with a grin. “But don’t worry. I’m feeling generous today.” He could see a dim blue glow in the darkness ahead. “Oooh, that light better be coming from Palutena’s fridge.”

“If by fridge, you mean  _reflecting pool_ ,” the goddess’s voice said, “then yes.” Palutena shimmered into view in front of Pit, Ike, and Link; her expression was grave. She spoke despite the varied surprise coming from the smashers. “I realize you three are still recovering from everything that’s happened today, but there’s much more to happen—worse still if we keep stalling.”

“Oh," said Ike, looking down. "Sorry if we kept you waiting too long. There were… a couple of _delays_."

Pit and Link shared a glance.

The goddess turned back towards the blue glow further ahead, beginning to take long strides toward it. The trio followed a few steps behind. “Not quite as long as I expected, actually. I thought Pit might need more time to recover since he’s been slacking on his endurance training lately.”

“That’s a rough way to put it,” Pit grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not to mention I wasn't expecting to play Super-Angel today."

"I _did_ say anyone was receptive to Light Weight. Just not the same one us celestials can make use of." Palutena hummed pleasantly to herself. “Besides, you don’t do much work anyway. What am I supposed to call your long hours on the clouds, eating nothing but grapes of all things?”

“…A well-deserved vacation!” the angel answered. The fake pride seeping through his countenance was painfully obvious, but no one responded to it.

“Let’s hope you enjoyed it, then,” said Palutena. The reflecting pool shone in front of them now, somewhat blinding against the darkness of the room it was in. The pool itself was a large stone tub filled to the brim with an unknown liquid; displayed across its surface was a flickering simulacrum of Pit, frozen in mid-flight.

“Ah," the real Pit said, frowning at the image. "I remember this fondly."

Link stared quizzically at the water. “So, what is this? From earlier today?”

“It is,” answered Palutena. “I’d seen this at first after sighting the monolith back at that island. There’s nothing wrong with the scene now, but—” she summoned her staff into her hand and hovered its glowing orb over the pool; the water rippled, and the fake Pit began to soar through the clouds.

The scene continued to play as if it were recorded footage, and all four gathered round, watching it intently:

_The angel is above a large complex of buildings, encircled by a stone amphitheatre oddly in contrast to the modern look of its contents. Around it is the entire continent, mountains of dark rock rising to the north, miles of plains to the west, canyoned wilds to the east, and deep forests clustered to the south. This is the heart of Smashworld._

_“Pit! Something terrible’s happened!” Palutena cries, the alarm rising in her voice. She is nowhere to be seen._

_“Finally!” he says to the air, sounding equally as apprehensive. There’s an air of jitteriness about him as he’s suspended in midair by his god-given flight magic. “I was starting to get even more worried. Look at this!”_

_Palutena hesitates. “What?” Then she sees the Coliseum._

_The Coliseum, founded after the first Rostering, had been built to be Smashworld’s center of government._

_It had been known as a place where technological advancements—innovations for both competition and daily life alike—were engineered and tested. It was the Coliseum that had always powered Smashworld’s transportation, the invisible miles of aether-net used for all sorts of communication across the land._

_It was also the Coliseum that had always powered the Aporie, the very borders of Smashworld that kept the unbridled chaos of the Lands Beyond outside._

_The thought that any kind of danger would befall the headquarters would be far-fetched, but there is no denying the thick, broiling scarlet haze that now hangs low over the building._

_The sight is already cause for alarm, but more importantly—_

_“The Coliseum is on fire!” Pit yells as if he can’t stress it enough. “That's why I was calling you, like, a_   _zillion_ _times_   _! There’s… there are things down there! They’re making…barricades? I don’t even know what those are! Where are the smashers that are supposed to be in there? What do I do about it?”_

_“Pit! Stay calm!” Palutena commands, albeit her added knowledge of the colossus gives way to a much deeper fear than Pit's. “I’ll… I’ll try to fly you closer.”_

_Indeed, the headquarters are on fire as Pit had noted, but the flames appear to be of a magical origin, swirling and crawling across the glass windows and stone structures but not breaking them. On the swath of land surrounding it, long, spindly humanoid shadows slog their way around the building, laying themselves atop one another and enclosing the area. The whole grotesque mess reeks of death, at least in terms of the aura that Palutena is sensing. But her vision is spotted, marred by the loud buzzing of what sounds like insects raging above the whole thing like a swarm._

_What’s worse, the legendary smashers that should be inside are not fighting the creatures off, nor being held hostage. They’re simply gone!_

_Palutena’s glad for her foresight abilities, and even more glad that Pit isn’t studying the spindly creatures up close. Their only noticeable features are their eyes—or lack thereof, since they’re really two gaping holes that remind her of endless abysses fraught with evil._

_She continues on, pushing her perception past them, hoping to find a breach for Pit to enter. Parting the flames, she peers into the committee headquarters, and—_

In the real world, the water of the reflecting pool rippled violently for a few seconds, startling Ike, Pit and Link momentarily.

Palutena kept her eyes focused on the water. "Don't look away just yet." Moments later, the pool calmed, reassembling into Pit circling around the scarlet fog:

_Palutena has her sights focused on Pit, but she sounds distraught when she talks to him. “Err—”_

_“…What?” Pit questions, anxious. He notices out of the corner of his eye that the scarlet fog is disappearing and, in its place, something wild, dark, and_ kind of creepy  _is emerging._

_“I can’t bring you any closer. Something’s blocking me.” There’s nothing to be done about it, she insists._

_"Oh, no.” Pit throws his arms downward. ”Now what? The world is doomed!” He looks down and realizes some thrashing mass of shadowy things are swirling about the Coliseum now, completely blocking view of anything going on beneath._

_Palutena sighs, mulling over her options. “I'll try to locate other traces of this... whatever."_

_"You mean you don't know what those are?"_

_"No, but maybe we'll get some leads. Standing here won't do anything.”_

_Pit glances at his wings covered in bright peach flames. "Hopefully it's somewhere close by?”_

_It’s fruitless to try to send Pit anywhere else now, so Palutena starts to move his wings, turning him around. “I’ll let you know,” she replies. “Don’t worry about this, for now. I’m sure the committee is fine. You know them and their crazy pocket inventions.”_

_“Are you sure?” Pit’s voice is wavering, as if his faith is draining from him by the second._

_“Positive. I need you to help the smashers over at the stadium. They’ve got a… colossal problem—and you’ve only got a little bit of time left!”_

_"They_   _what_   _—whoa!" Pit's wings, controlled by Palutena, take him through a quick pivot in the air. He doesn’t have time to react to being zoomed off, away from the chaos behind him._

_Palutena’s voice resumes to its gentle rise and fall. “When you get to the island, talk to Prince Marth. He’s… acting as leader for now. I feel as if it's better if you have a look for yourself.”_

_“He’s what? I'm going to see what?!” Pit blurts, because he’s still not sure if he can make sense out of anything, but he feels Palutena’s presence leave his mind. He can only keep his eyes on the way ahead._

The reflecting pool resumed its blank appearance once more. Pit, Link, and Ike were troubled, looking among each other to see who would speak first.

Ike cleared his throat. “Let me get this straight," he said, pointing at Pit. "You went to go get a group of  _elite_  smashers, saw their high-tech building in  _flames_ , and... whatever those things are took it completely free of charge and with no fighting in sight." What he intended to be a flat statement ended with an uncertain hesitation.

“If there’d been any fighting at all, that is," said Link, transfixed on the reflecting pool. “It looks like everyone went missing! Unless those things… feed.”

Pit wrinkled his nose. “Um… ew. But at this point I don’t really know anything."

"I think I can see why," Ike said. He’d since lost the conviction that had taken him so strongly earlier.

"From the looks of it, the attack wasn’t just a mindless wave. It’s almost like it was... planned," said Palutena.

“Which means it's only going to get worse!” Pit exclaimed, flapping his wings emphatically. "I bet that giant was planned too! That's why everything's all the same red! Someone’s pulling all the strings here!" Link shook his head, more to himself than to the group; his expression was unreadable. “…Something else?” Pit asked uneasily.

“No—" Link replied. His eyes were wide, as if searching the air for an answer. “No, no, this is weird. Why isn’t anyone sending any emergency calls? Why are you two the only people that’ve seen it?”

“Because there isn’t any emergency to see. You remember, right? The Coliseum exists outside the common dimension,” Palutena said thoughtfully. “Those who’ve been specifically given access to it are the only ones that can see it and enter it. Since I’d been asked to send Pit to bring the committee over, we had a temporary grant.”

Ike knit his brows thoughtfully. “Could anyone else have seen it?”

“Well, if they have,” Palutena answered, “they’ve either met the same fates the others did, or they haven’t made much of an impact.” She paused to think. “Unless—oh, no.”

“What is it, Lady Palutena?” Pit asked, conspicuously afraid.

“How could I—how could I have forgotten…” There was worry on her face— _real_ worry that seemed unbecoming of her tranquil nature. “Pit! Everyone! Can you access the aether-net?”

The aether-net was one of the committee’s special inventions, a manipulation of stagnant ether in the air that allowed individuals to communicate in short bursts of messages, instantaneously sent and received no matter the distance.

It was a service adapted to be accessible through the Index, so each of the three smashers summoned from their hands a flickering screen, expecting to see their own familiar assortment of conversations, alerts, greetings, and goodbyes built up over the years.

Each of them received the same message: _THE SMASHWORLD ETHERNET SERVICE HAS ENCOUNTERED AN ERROR (404-0a7): Service not accessible or does not exist. The aether-net is likely undergoing mandatory maintenance and will be back shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience._

Ike drew in a sharp breath. “This can’t be happening.”

“Huh,” Pit scoffed. “Some real good maintenance. How the heck would they be able to pull _that_ off in a place they probably couldn’t even reach?”

“…I’m not sure,” Palutena answered gravely. “Even during the Subspace fight, Tabuu’s army came nowhere near discovering the realm the Coliseum was in. Although I guess that worked in their favor, since we found out too late that there were invaders in our midst.”

“So they knew the Coliseum existed and how to get to it…” Link began, “and took down everything on Rostering Day, too. There’s going to be a lot of smashers all in one place—and that giant could’ve made us all into trophies, somehow. But it didn’t. It just… crumbled.” He raised his head, as if something had suddenly come to him. "What, was it just there to make a joke of us?”

“No, not quite,” Palutena said. “Not exactly a joke.”

“Then… what?” Pit questioned.

Palutena’s voice grew dark. “That giant was never meant to be a threat, yes, but it wasn’t folly. It was definitely meant to be a warning.”

A deep and thick silence pervaded throughout the room. The reflecting pool pulsated in front of Link, Pit, and Ike, its water burbling as they each wrapped their minds around Palutena’s statement.

Pit shook his head fervently. “What could there be to  _warn_ about? It was already there!”

“No,” Ike said, closing his eyes for a moment. “She means that the giant was just one big ego. Like it was just showing off.”

“And with everything,” Link said, “it sounds so… suspicious.” He paused, eyes widening. “Like a spy did this. Or someone rebelled. But who…”

“Whoever or _what_ ever it is,” said Palutena, “it’s got to be stopped.” She lifted a finger to her chin. “It’s already kept our top fighters at bay, and it’s taken over the Coliseum.” She lifted her staff; a white smoke emanated from its sphere. “And we can’t allow anything else to slip past us.”

The smoke became like a thin string, moving about in loops around the staff until it exploded into a sheet of mist floating in front of Ike, Pit, and Link like a display monitor. Patches of greens, blues, and browns faded onto the vapor screen. After the three smashers adjusted their eyes to the sudden brightness, they saw that Palutena had created a map Smashworld with coarse representations of landmarks. In fact, the entire map consisted of nothing but tiny squares, as if the world were made of blocks.

“Wow!” Pit remarked. “8-bit Palutena Vision!” Ike gave him a look of puzzlement that went unnoticed.

“Pay close attention, Pit,” Palutena said with a stern face. She lifted her hand, and a pixelated version of the stone giant popped over the island near the Midair Stadium. Where the Coliseum’s landmark was, tiny flames rained down upon it, followed by an invasion of little dark purple dots. “This is all I know so far. Whatever those shadow things are, they’re bringing that miasma with them, and all these shadows and shadow bugs follow.” A morass of dots representing smog rolled over some patches of the map, tinting the world in red splotches.

Link furrowed his eyebrows at the scarlet haze. “And that’s past the coliseum already. So…why hasn't anyone said anything about it?”

“Whatever miasma is, it sounds like it’s painful,” Pit added, shivering.

“It's not natural, like clouds are,” Palutena said. “It's magic—which, might I remind you, isn’t the same thing as mere disturbances in ether levels. To the average person or creature, it just looks like these things appear out of nowhere.” She gestured to the map. “The minute I began tracking it, it had already come this far. I still need time to figure out what  _sort_  of magic it is, but it's definitely not a good idea to let it spread.” The fog disappeared for a moment, only remaining in two patches: one around the Coliseum, and another to the northeast region of the map. “So far, this is where I’ve been able to find traces of it, but who knows how fast it’ll cover ground?”

Pit looked at the other patch of fog, seemingly out of place in its location above the water and high in the sky. “What’s that spot supposed to be?” he asked.

“That—” Palutena said, “That’s where all the haze is coming from.”

“Hmmm. Maybe all this fog and shadow-y stuff is all because of a volcano. An angry one that’s out to get us,” Link commented. He’d said it as if he hoped he was right.

“I don’t think there’s a volcano there,” said Ike, making all eyes in the room whip towards him as he stepped forward. “But I wouldn’t doubt someone being out to get us.” He had been studying the patch silently until its location suddenly clicked in his mind. He planted the side of his fist onto his palm as if to make a declaration, turning towards everyone else. “That—that’s the Isle of Ancients.”

A unanimous “What?” sprang from Pit and Link, both equally shocked. The angel continued to prattle: “How? No way! The Isle of Ancients is gone! In a zillion pieces! We  _destroyed_  it! It’s just a bunch of dust in the—”

“If you forgot,  _I_  saw it, too.” Ike retorted. “But it doesn't make sense to have that be a totally random place for those things to be… which means that the Isle is there. Or there's something in its place.”

Palutena nodded. "A bright observation."

"Well—maybe someone's just trying to play a nostalgia trick on us," Pit said.

“We don’t know for sure, but that’s where I wish to focus my sights on,” Palutena replied. “As you all know, the Isle of Ancients used to be a place of lesser ROB units, governed by one kingpin ROB that oversaw the civilization’s unprecedented technological prowess and knowledge. It’s because of this civilization that we have much of the technology we have today—but, since it no longer exists and its master is safely at work among the research colonies, we’re going to have to investigate why there’s activity in the area again.”

A miniscule, pixelated Pit flapped into view. It flew towards the marked Isle as the goddess spoke: “I’m going to send Pit over there to investigate while the other smashers begin to push the forces back—engaging them in combat and such.”

“Gosh,” said Pit, “what if I get there and they, like, suck my brains out?”

“I'll be sure to pull you out of there before that happens,” Palutena assured. She blinked her emerald eyes a few times. "But it's important that we gather as much as possible. We have a force on our hands that we know nothing about, but I believe that our situation won't be for long.”

“Right on!” Pit exclaimed. “For Lady Palutena—and Smashworld!” Beaming, he turned to the two swordsmen. "So, Link! What are you and Mike—"

"Ike," the mercenary corrected.

"—What are you and Ike going to do?"

"Me?" Link pursed his lips. "I don’t know, really. I’ll figure something out as soon as stuff really gets moving, though. You can count on me!"

Ike looked pensive.

“You too, Ike?” Palutena said.

“Yeah,” Ike answered after another moment. “I’ve gotta make sure this doesn’t get any worse.”

The goddess of light smiled brightly at them. “Actually, I have a favor to ask of the two of you. It looks like I've made a good decision bringing you here.” She extended her arm towards Ike. “I did some research before you arrived here, Ike. It seems you have commandeering experience?”

Ike scratched the back of his head, offering a taut smile. "Uh—I mean, in the past, a little." He winced visibly. "Now I just take over for Marth whenever he can't direct the train-ins."

"But you  _can_ give orders." Palutena drew her arm back, bringing it to rest at her side. She was smiling now. "Or have you not been at the head of many hunting missions? Anti-bandit sorties?"

Pit's eyebrows went up, oblivious to Ike going stone cold. "For what?" he asked.

"No... just side jobs, is all," he said. "I was going to say…"

"Yes?" Palutena asked.

“I know you might’ve been hoping for me to agree to your ideas, but if it isn’t any trouble, I’d prefer to… deal with the problem on my own terms.”

“Wow,” Pit muttered. “Saying no straight to a goddess’s face.”

“Now, Pit,” Palutena said, “it wouldn’t be fair of me to put myself first.” She looked to Ike. “What plans did you have in mind? Perhaps I can aid you.”

“I—” For a moment, Ike’s expression betrayed its hardness. “I want to help to keep my area of the lands safe. The wilds, I mean.”

Palutena gauged his expression for a moment. "Ah. Yes, it might be a good idea to scatter the offensive in small groups across the map, seeing as our flag’s already been captured. Although…” She assumed a more formal posture. “Being the representative goddess of the people, protection _is_ one of my natural talents. And, as such, every being under my protection will be moved to safer quarters by sunset of tomorrow. And I’ll put double the effort to make sure nothing happens until then. Smashworld still has usage of the Citadels stationed all across Smashworld, as far as I know, so after this I’ll leave to begin mobilizing them.” She added a wink. “Let's hope the people in charge know the Divinity Clause."

"There's a Divinity Clause?" Pit asked.

"No, but there should be," Palutena said. "Lest we submit ourselves to anarchy. Now, Ike, I can arrange to have you and a few smashers start scouting the canyons. I can even have you team up with your mercenary comrades, if you want." Her eyes became kinder. “I should hope to see you there, then?”

There was silence, and then Ike said, "I’ll do my best.”

“And I promise you my best,” the goddess said. She looked to Link. “Now, as for you…”

Link looked up. "Yeah? Oh! Were you going to ask me the same thing, Palutena? Bossing people around isn't really my, um, forté."

"I know that, sir Hero of Hyrule, Smashworld and maybe other things," said the goddess. "But you do certainly have a presence."

"Just a little," said Link, amused. Then he shook his head. "Like I said, I’m just looking to maybe cut some monsters. Or help some smashers out if they’re in trouble, maybe. Or anything else I feel I’ve got to do. And you won’t need to worry about helping me at all! Because—”

Palutena cleared her throat loudly enough to interrupt him. "You could certainly do that… if you feel you don't want to do  _bigger things_."

Pit grinned. "That sounds like something more your lane. Even Lady Palutena agrees!" Now the angel was totally convinced of the idea. "That's it! You should totally hunt down the primers! You always find leads!" 

Link raised his brows. “Wow. Where’d you get that idea?”

Pit hastily shared a glance with Palutena. “Uh…” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a gut feeling. Like a sudden lightbulb went off, and it’s just the one for you!”

Link offered a small smile. “Doing things alone hasn’t always worked out for me, and I’m not really someone who does detective work…”

“Of course I wouldn’t put such a big task on you alone,” Palutena said. “But you’re one of the only people who can use the Triforce at will.”

Link looked down, thoughtful. He’d known the power of the Triforce for a long time—it’d been a part of him since birth, he’d been told. By fate alone he’d been divined to bear the Triforce of Courage—of vitality and sentience, and of many other concepts he’d buried away deep in the roots of his soul.

But it meant nothing to this kind of pursuit. Link suddenly blurted, “Why couldn’t you ask someone like Zelda instead? Or even Ganondorf if you were that dedicated?”

“I could,” Palutena admitted, “But those enemies must be serving some sort of higher purpose. And if you could lend us your help…”

Link fell silent. Maybe Palutena saw something in him that he himself didn’t? “I mean,” he said slowly. “I’ll try.” By his curious instinct alone, the energy of his being rush to awaken the power of Courage resting within him, and the symbol of the Triforce glowed on the back of his hand.

Suddenly his consciousness expanded so far that he Saw—there were the individual spirits of everyone in the room, and in the infinity of the moment he Saw who those spirits were, their emotions and their motivations, and all that everyone _was_ became known to him, his mind no longer able to remain on one concept for longer than a fleeting moment. When he prodded further, pushed himself a little, the world became multitudes deeper—he was filled with Sight of all the possibilities of how lives could change, how fate itself could be rewritten. And if he focused himself a little bit more—

In the same moment a surge of pain jounced him back to reality. He grabbed his hand, nearly doubling over, as his Triforce lay dormant again.

“Whoa!” Pit said, rushing to him. “Are you okay?”

Link shook his hands tentatively, one after the other. All that he had Seen was now a dreamlike memory to him. Finding himself unscathed, he kept Pit at arm’s length. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t thinking…”

Ike’s arm was half-outstretched as he was unsure of offering help. “What happened?”

“Yeah,” Pit added. “You were saying something and then suddenly your hand was glowing. And then a second later _that_ happened!”

Without answering either of them, Link shook his head with his eyes directed at Palutena. “I’m sorry, Palutena. I can’t help you.”

“So you were testing yourself just now,” Palutena surmised. “I… suppose I could instead ask Princess Zelda to evaluate the situation instead, and our minds can fill in some missing gaps.” She glimpsed back at the reflecting pool. “I’d have to change my plans, but I think I can do it.”

“Really? That’s a relief,” Link said. “I mean, I still don’t really know what I’m going to do, but don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out!”

Palutena hummed. “You could help Pit out with his mission.”

“Uh…” Pit scratched his head. “You mean I have to carry him all the way to the Isle?”

Palutena laughed. “No, no. I’ll have something more comfortable arranged by then.”

“Oh, phew. Hey, Link! That means you can put that hero-blood you have to use,” Pit said, flapping his wings with excitement. “I was getting scared about going in there alone.”

“And no need to worry with being unarmed,” Palutena said. “The archives key should be in my possession soon. I’ll be sure to send each of you whatever you need as soon as I can.”

Link seemed more eager to accept this alternative plan. “Okay!” he said, his motivation ignited. “Okay, Pit. I’ll go with you. It’ll be like Subspace again, but better!”

Pit and Palutena shared a glance, smiling at each other. "Very good," Palutena replied. "It seems we are all clear on this."

"Absolutely!" said Pit.

"Sure enough," said Ike. He seemed to have some more inner strength now. “But we’ve spent enough time here already. And how are we getting back down?”

"Uh-huh," said Link, "But if Pit can get flown, how are we going to get back down?"

The goddess lifted her staff, and a faded trail of blue light slinked along the floor and into the darkened hallway. “That’ll show you the way back outside. Be careful of any strange doors you open, unless you like skydiving.” She waved slowly at them. “I’ll be gone from here soon, but you should make haste now to leave! Remember that your missions aren't for me, but for Smashworld."

Ike, who was already on his way out, stopped and turned to Palutena. “…Thanks.”

Link followed several steps behind, waving at the pair behind him with some kind of  _I’ll be fine_  smile on his face. "Nice to see you again, Palutena!" he called. "And good luck to you, Pit!" Then both of them were gone, leaving Pit and the goddess by the reflecting pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe missing the train was a good thing.


	6. III-C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is rather interesting to imagine what it would be like if we did not exist to fight."  
> —P.F., "Biologia Gladiatoris"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - * ) /

Pit fluttered his wings. “I'm still a little burned out from earlier. I think  _these_  babies feel ready to take a nice, cool glide down."

"Out of all the things you're supposed to practice, it's gliding you actually do,” said Palutena, but she had relaxed considerably.

"Hey, at least I can get some fresh air. I’ve never been hit with telepathy so close to you before. It kind of… makes me woozy.”

“Like the Elders said to me once, one can’t have too much of a good thing. But the ends have to meet the means somehow, even if that means rules need to be broken.”

“Uh-huh…” Pit said, idly rubbing one side of his head.

“Besides, our little smasher detour was running a bit hard on our time, and you still needed a run-down of my agenda once you finish investigating the Isle,” Palutena continued, walking towards the back of the room where faint lines of light traced the shape of a large doorway. “It’s just that I didn’t want to leave the two of them empty-handed, in the vaguest sense. But since I’m going to have to do some, well, evil-banishing beta testing today, I’ll need to focus my attention on the smashers. That means I might not be able to help you out immediately.”

Pit seemed unfazed by her warning. “After a century of having you for a goddess? I can handle anything! _Especially_ on my own!”

Palutena raised her hand; it shimmered, producing a divine bow. It had limbs of dark blue and gold, matching Palutena’s staff, and they were also extremely sharp—fortified to be used as dual blades. "You’ve certainly gotten my blessing.”

Pit leapt forward with enthusiasm to receive it. “Thank you very much,” the angel said cheerily, eyes twinkling at his favorite weapon. “We’ll give the dark a taste of its own medicine!” Yet the goddess looked solemn now, which kept Pit from bolting out the room. He frowned. “Something wrong?”

“… Are you scared, Pit?” She’d asked it with voice quivering, her expression unreadable.

Pit walked back towards Palutena. He Indexed the bow, allowing the weapon to dissolve into glowing dust and swirl into his open palm. “Not at all,” he answered strongly. “I eat danger for breakfast! It’s my middle name. Pit ‘Danger’…Danger. There! Twice as dangerous!”

Palutena’s eyes brightened at him, leaving her unable to stifle a soft laugh. “Okay, Mr. Double Danger.” Her smile faded. "But I’m not worried about the danger you might be in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back when the Subspace army invaded, we had our leaders, a source of power, to guide us. Now a lot more is at stake...”

Pit looked down. “I think I know what you mean. It’s like what you told me when we first fought the Underworld Army almost a century ago! We gotta protect others first, and kick evil’s butt second!”

“Something like that,” Palutena said, chuckling. “As I am sure some of the other gods and goddesses will be directing their own forces, I have the sole responsibility of protecting the life of my domain not only for myself, but in the stead of others who can't. I’d almost forgotten how big of a responsibility all of this is.”

Pit shuffled his feet, searching for the words. “We've already braved through a lot, Lady Palutena. I know this isn't any different," He thrust a thumbs-up out to her. "And if it is, we'll just have to blast through it with a, you know—” he threw his fists upward “—a _shazamityblam_!”

Palutena laughed along with him “Thank you, Pit,” she assured him, genuinely feeling some relief. “You’re right. I can’t let worry get to me." She lit her staff. "Now seems like a good time to test the new warp panels, huh?"

The angels eyes brightened. "Oh, I almost forgot about those! Looks like I won't need to glide after all. Will it really transport us all the way down?"

The goddess smiled warmly. "That's up to you to find out.” She tapped the ground with the base of her staff. A winged halo of blue light flashed behind her briefly. “There. I’ve activated one at the end of the island. It’ll take all three of you down to the Temple since I’m planning to have the Halberd swing by in less than an hour.” She looked at Pit fondly. “I must go visit the other smashers now, but I believe in you. All of you!” Then a great light came forth to warp her body away, leaving Pit by himself.

 

Outside, the great diamond doors of the Palace had been pushed shut.

Link heaved a breath. “Guess I could find one or two others to help me search. Goombella's smart, and she owes me a favor...” He'd said it more to himself than to Ike, who was some ways away from him.

The mercenary contemplated the pillars and baroque structures that the two of them would soon be leaving behind. Not much came to mind when he thought about more positive prospects. “Good luck with your mission, Link,” was all he said.

"Huh? Oh. Hope yours goes just peachy," Link replied, half-smiling. "Adventure mode kick into you?"

Ike laughed, though he tried to hide it unsuccessfully. "No. Not some adventure like yours or the angel’s. But I sure am ready to fight.” He sighed. “I’m not sure what I’d be doing without Palutena’s help. Seems it was good luck I missed the train."

“Wow. For being so bold, you— _whoa_ ,” Link stepped back suddenly, eyes fixated on the horizon.

Shadows had begun to form, rising and falling against the otherwise peaceful afternoon sky.

Ike, also noticing it, cursed under his breath. “I see it too. It’s headed..." He paused to squint. The dusty, dark billows were definitely crawling forward. "...straight for us.” Although it was still probably far away, the mere sight of the darkness left them awestruck. It grew long, grotesque arms, clawing at the air, becoming black and twisted, rising like a multitude of spires.

This definitely looked like the shadows in the reflection pool earlier. Ike paled. If only he had his sword with him! “You…think we’ll be having to face that thing?”

Link swallowed the fear that had been building in his gut. It still wasn't enough to slow his words laced with anxiety: “If I, uh, close my eyes and we’re not back down on the ground when I open them because Palutena hasn't suddenly come to our rescue, then I’d think so.”

One of the palace doors swung open with a bang. Pit burst through, barely acknowledging Ike and Link. “ _Yo ho, Pit’s gone away_!" he sang. " _There’ll be slaying and adventure today_ —huh?”

His ambition disintegrated upon seeing the terrible billows advancing in his direction. He recognized the two swordsmen when he looked backwards, and scuttled towards them as quickly as he’d ran a few moments ago. His wide eyes darted between the two as he approached. “When—when did  _that_  thing happen?” Then he gasped, looking back. "Wait! That's our way out! We have to get there! How do we—"

Link placed a hand on Pit's shoulder. “Um… you’re not really helping our nerves, bud…”

"Sorry, Link." Pit was able to calm himself somewhat, exhaling slowly through his nostrils. “She,” he began quietly, tilting his head to one side as if listening to a distant voice. “Lady Palutena has to know about this by now. The barrier magic...” He stood up straight—maybe Palutena was occupied? But she'd at least let him know—especially this close to the Palace!

The two swordsmen watched Pit call his goddess’s name once, then twice, then several more times, each repetition louder and more anxious than the last. Then Pit stopped at once; the only sounds left were the whispers of the shadows now chillingly close, even though the billows still loomed far away. He turned to face the others. "This is bad," he said.

Indeed it was, because at that moment the scene surrounding the three smashers exploded into blackness.

Each of the smashers, taken completely by surprise, instantly drew back. The once-quiet whispers were now loud, inhuman, and terrifying, swimming through their brains, chanting some ugly string of taunts at them. The three of them were completely engulfed, choking under the thickness of the dark—and it grew  _thicker_ , more rancorous, crushing them under its might. They hadn't even the slightest idea of what was upon them, and they would be ravaged by it here—

Then the night receded. In its wake was a spindly shadow of a human (at least, to the trio, it appeared like one), its thin limbs rising out of the expanse of darkness under it. The twilight lasted far, far behind, spread like spilled ink over the paved road of pillars, festering at the feet of the faceless statues that stood proud. Shadowy wisps similar to the first one rose in legions, compensating for their smaller size with their feral appearance, broken whispers escaping them as they covered the entire area of land in front of Ike, Link, and Pit.

The wisp at the forefront moved its mouth—or what looked like a mouth—and some kind of language croaked from it: “ _Ëte toma ton theo? Ëte ys ísae ipretys tou Alethe?_ ” The words somehow appeared in the smashers' minds, but their meaning was anything but understood.

All three smashers could only exchange confused looks. Pit beat his wings as if to steady himself. “Um…otnay ickingpay upway on the anguagelay,” he offered. Ike glowered in the angel's direction.

The wisp spoke again, its volume rising slightly. It still hadn't made any sense, but they could tell that the wisp’s voice was distinctly feminine now. It resembled an elderly warrior with the rough and declarative tones of her voice. Pit shivered, feeling some air of familiarity with her mien, and yet some part of him knew that no antagonist he'd faced was capable of being everything horrible at once.

“Look,” Ike stated, clearly uncomfortable, “we’re sorry, but can’t understand you, so...” He shook his head fervently as he spoke, hoping to make his message clear.

The mass of shadows responded altogether by murmuring among themselves in hushed tones. Their leader called them to attention immediately; her voice hadn’t carried well throughout the air, sounding like a coarse hiss rather than a declaration or command, but the wisps listened, and they stood straight.

She turned round, opening her mouth. “Are you not the vessels of the High Ones?” she asked—heavily accented and still bone-chilling, but now coherent. The three smashers stood agape. “Wherefore art thou still dumb? Spea- _k_ ,” she continued, ending her sentence in a threatening growl. 

Link replied, albeit it was an involuntary burst: “What?”

The wisp roared. “ _Atti muci_!” At once, knife like hands protruded from her spindle arms, and she thrust her sharp claws at the smashers with unholy speed. Then she stopped—the tips hovered mere centimeters away from their necks. She began to speak again. “Thou shall not make a farce of me...  _you_  especially, bearer of courage. You all have  _blood_  flowing through you—the very ichor I seek—and I do not lie.” Link could only blink at her in response.

“They’ve gotta be messing with us,” Ike said in a low voice.

Pit shrunk away from the spiny finger pointed at him, terror plastered onto his face. His voice trembled with the rest of his body: “You’re not going to actually stab us…are you?”

Hearing the angel snapped Link out of his trance. “Forgive us,” he pleaded, “but we honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, really!”

The wisp, though faceless, seemed to regard them with scorn. “ _Áhrich tos_ ,” she spat, retracting her knife-like hands back into her arms with a slick, shivering  _whoosh_. The trio barely had time to sigh in relief when one of the lesser wisps snaked through the air, speaking in the strange tongue to its leader.

When it had retreated, she spoke in the same voice she’d used to command them, only now she sounded livid, almost fuming. Then a sea of spikes—long, pointed weapons—emerged from the legions of shadows, along with a great chorus of bellows that Ike recognized as a rallying cry.

“We’re doomed,” he said. His hands were balled into fists.

The leader of the wisps grew larger, and her jaw began to expand far beyond where it should have stopped. Teeth emerged into the void that made up her mouth, blunt and crooked and slightly yellowed. Nothing else appeared on her face—making her eldritch appearance even more cringe-worthy. Her claws elongated as she lowered her form towards the three smashers. “No," she hissed. "You know not what I am talking about. But to me that is worth nothing."

She rose, and then _bellowed_  in her feral, otherworldly tongue, baring her teeth at the three as if ready to devour them. Pit, though he was in between Link and Ike, pulled the both of them with great effort to the right. They’d nearly missed the demon’s head rushing forward.

“Founders be damned,” Link coughed out. The demon rushed at them again, making him jump to the side. He said nothing else.

Pit summoned his bow, breaking it apart. He lowered his stance, ready to fight. “I'll hold them off!” he declared. The shadows loomed before the three of them, an army of twilight spires moving as if it were a single being. Pit faltered visibly. “I think.”

“You  _think_ ,” Ike replied, although he was more irritated at the unfavorable odds than the angel’s attempt at bravery. The leader of the wisps roared a command again, turning away from the three for a few moments.

Link tugged Pit backwards. “Move it!” he directed through clenched teeth. Pit gave him a despairing look in response, but dashed ahead of the other two, away from the shadow army. Better safe than sorry.

“This way!” the angel shouted, moving away from the palace and the great shadow demon with abandon; she'd already noticed them by now, but she remained in place. Instead, a shapeless umbra, seeming to burn the ground it touched, separated itself from the sea of twilight, slinking across the ground toward the three smashers. All three of them saw it—they pushed themselves faster, their legs already beginning to tire.

"Don't look back!" Ike yelled.

"Keep running!" Pit cried.

They ran.

Between sets of cracked pillars and around monuments of nameless idols, they dodged and vaulted, pressing on with more and more intensity. A great shadow was hot on their heels, sending pitch-black tendrils snaking along the pavement towards them.

—But the end of the floating land mass approached them just as quickly, forcing them to slow down. Pit whipped his head right and left. They hadn't realized the shadow had grown so large; there was nowhere else to go!

Link’s eyes were quivering. “Cornered?”

“Cornered,” Pit repeated. They expected the tendrils to swallow them whole, or perhaps tie them up, capture them, take them hostage—

The snaky arms converged instead, resulting in a great blast of black dust. The sheer force of the blast was enough to throw Ike, Pit, and Link over the edge, sending them plummeting down towards the earth below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit I based these things off the post-human stretching creatures in The Enigma of Amigara Fault. Their language is sort of an introduction to the, er, Greco-Roman motifs. Google Translate /could/ help, but it's not really a language anyone is supposed to understand.  
> At least, anyone living in the real world.
> 
> // post-rewrite edit: Since Smash 4 is actually out now it's probably better to imagine these as smaller, maybe scarier Master Giants, and their leader's the one that's got the scary-looking claws.


	7. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I solemnly swear, with all the guidance of the Aether above and the Ancients below, that I shall protect all the light touches for as long as the Founders have created me."  
> —from Palutena's Oath, documented and recited by C.C. in the year ____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // post-rewrite edit  
> Major major changes.  
> Fun fact that Gaur Plain was going to be SSE's The Plain. Now that some elements of Xenoblade (and we'll see a lot more in the future) have been written in, I wonder what this story would have become without Shulk really feeling it?

"… And  _that_ , strange as it may seem, is how Peach began her weekly tea parties,” Zelda concluded. She lifted her head slightly, preparing for the surge of pride to come over her—what a story indeed.

But pride would never come: the story told how she, only beginning to train as a smasher, had lost all control of her temper and “mysteriously” blasted a hole through the Hyrule Temple that took months to repair.

Zelda was gazing at the Luma snuggled in Rosalina's embrace. It waved its yellow, stubby arms, cheering elatedly—" _Wow! Mama, tell our friends! Let’s have story time later!"—_ and the princess of Hylia decided not to frown.

She, along with Rosalina and Peach, had made use of the various rubble that littered the ground, and were now seated comfortably in a circle, exchanging stories to pass the time. The foliage of a nearby tree cast splatters of shadow on them, low stirring of leaves overlaying the gentle rise and fall of voices spread across the battlefield. Now that the smashers were completely stranded in the sky there was nothing for them to do except wait, so the entire crowd had broken off into small groups of twos and threes, and began conversing among each other with occasional, various degrees of unease in their expressions.

Peach giggled softly. “ _These_  get-togethers are invitation-only. Always at the beginning of sunset. Always at the ending of midnight. Will you and your Luma be joining us?" She opened her hand towards the pale star creature, revealing a gem small enough for it to hold between its arms.

It took the item from her palm, squeaking. “ _Wonderful! So wonderful!_ ”

"Thank you," said Rosalina. "I'd love to, Princess Peach." Then she turned to Zelda. "Luma looks like he's eager for more. You  _do_  make a simple story sound so invigorating, Princess Zelda. Link, too—he'd said you taught him everything he knows."

Zelda smiled. "My protégé has far to go. Perhaps he will be more confident in his abilities when he reaches my age."

"If you have more to tell, I would be glad to hear it, Princess Zelda."

Zelda shook her head serenely. "Do not feel obligated to refer to me as 'Princess', dear Rosalina. Not because of your title, but because I wish to see you as a good friend."

"And me too," Peach chimed. "Mario’s said  _many, many_ good things about your fighting abilities!" She hummed as if remembering something. "Is it true that you were scouted because you saved him from a swarm of Wavers?"

"I believe they were only Shootflies, but there were quite a lot of them." Rosalina brushed some of her pale golden hair aside. "Combat-specific fighting is something I've had to learn not very long ago, but Luma and I have always known how to combine our strengths."

Zelda nodded. "A firm foundation should bring you much victory." She became aware of a faint pitter patter heading towards her, and she leaned to the side. She saw Pikachu speeding towards her with a hop in its gait, Kirby following not far behind.

Pikachu called out in the princesses’ direction. Although her back was facing him, Peach called back, “Yes, dears, you can join us if you like!”—but Pikachu and Kirby dashed past her without sparing a glance.

Then, thick puffs of vapor sprang from the ground nearby her, and there stood Greninja, a dark glint in its eyes. It blinked its frog eyes, looking between Peach, Zelda, and Rosalina for a few moments, and then it leaped away in another quick blur.

Peach watched the dust clouds settle, bringing a hand to her cheek. “I wonder what’s happened?”

Another pokémon, Lucario, materialized where Greninja had been standing. To Peach’s relief, he stopped to speak. “Forgive the intrusion. Pikachu and Kirby were playing with the giant remains. Kirby thought he could play Sidestep... and a piece of the debris had the mischance of striking Greninja square in the head.” Lucario’s telepathic voice sounded particularly huffy.

“That sounds unpleasant,” Rosalina remarked. “Best of luck!” Then the pokémon vanished, there was the sound of a great blast of energy, and the commotion ceased once and for all.

Rosalina was still making sense of it all when Peach and Zelda simultaneously craned their necks upward, making her glance behind herself with surprise. “What—what? Is something else giving chase?”

Zelda stood up to brush something off her dress before sitting down again. “You need not worry. Someone’s just coming this way.”

 

Pikachu twitched its ears, sending sparks flying from its red cheeks. It was pouting more like a child than a vicious predator.

Marth, holding the pokémon in one arm, ignored it—the number of electrifying incidents with Pikachu’s deviousness left him somewhat cold. He only released his hold when Peach opened her arms. She greeted both Pikachu and the prince quite happily, and the yellow pokémon broke free, leaping into the princess’s lap.

Once it had made itself comfortable, Pikachu stuck its tongue out at Marth, who simply looked away. The salutations he gave the three ladies was a tight-lipped one from a sidelong gaze. “Yes. It seems everyone is doing well. I hope the reinforcements will arrive soon,” he said.

Zelda saw no trace of her previous attack on Marth’s cheek. “Oh. You managed to heal your poor face,” she observed dryly. She flicked her hand quickly in a dismissive gesture. “Say, I’d seen you were with the angel and a few others earlier before he got sent flying to the sky. It looked like Link was with him. You… wouldn’t happen to know what went on?” She’d ended her question with a pointed stare at Marth. “You do know everything, after all.”

Marth flared with intensity at her. “ _Listen_ , I…” he growled. Then he remembered his peers, who were wide-eyed at his outburst (except Zelda, who was faintly smiling), and he shook his head. It took extra effort to regain control of his voice. “I… I understand some amount of the situation. But I’m confident Link is fine.”

“You’re _confident_ , are you? What situation could you have put him and those others in to be so _confident_?”

“I’m not sure you would be able to handle it,” Marth retorted sourly.

“Handle what?” Peach asked.

“Ah, well,” Marth replied nonchalantly, smiling brightly, “Pit’s just taken him and Ike to go get some information on the current state of affairs.”

“Ancients help you when we get off this battlefield,” Zelda said. She turned to Rosalina. “I’m sorry for the impertinence. He’s rather insufferable.”

“Oh, that’s…” Rosalina thought the prince’s company on the train car hadn’t been terrible, or even bad. “It’s quite alright. Rest assured I’m still very interested in befriending both of you.”

“No! Don’t do that!” Peach cried. “Then you’ll end up like me and you’ll get stuck in the middle of their silly duels!”

Rosalina stared at her. “You mean… they’re always like this?”

The Luma looked up at Peach worriedly. “Is something wrong?” it asked.

“Maybe not,” Marth said, “if _she_ could be nice for once.”

Zelda’s faint smile became a taunting smirk. “You mean if _you_ could be humble for once.”

“No, no, it’s usually not that big of a deal,” Peach assured Rosalina and Luma. “I just have to take them apart, like this.” Then she got up and, lightly pushing Marth away, said, “Hey, if you’ve only come over to bother Zelda, you can keep walking. Not after what’s happened!” Her eyes turned devilish. “And if you’re going to stick around, I have my club Indexed.”

“No… no need,” Marth said, quickly stepping away from her. “I just came to congratulate you all on a job well done with the colossus.”

Peach smiled at him as she sat back on her slab of stone. “Well, congratulations to you too, on all the successful commands! Your angry yelling was just the thing I needed to wake up my battle mojo!”

Rosalina nodded in agreement. “I, too, feel honored to have been part of such a successful battle.”

“As with Peach, and… even Zelda, you have my thanks, Princess Rosalina,” Marth said. A bright pink glint in Rosalina’s open palm caught his eye; he peered down at it. “Speaking of great things to be a part of, it also seems you have a Peach Petal.”

“Is that what these are?” Rosalina asked, inspecting the gem Peach had given her. The so-called Peach Petal was a flat stone carved into the shape of a flower petal, tinted a warm pink. Rosalina held it out where it captured the sun, and her Luma giggled at the peach-colored light dancing across its head. “They’re simply marvelous!”

Peach laughed, sounding bubblier than usual. “Why, thank you! I mine them myself from the diamond caverns and then I make them in my spare time. I always keep some in my inventory! After all, you never know the next person you’re going to give it to!”

Rosalina thought to ask if Peach’s soirées were really as exclusive as originally assumed, but she decided to keep it to herself. 

Marth’s hand glowed golden for a few moments, and he produced his own Peach Petal, displaying it like an award of honor. “You see, I’ve been to many a distastefully atrocious gathering before—”

Zelda stuck her nose up at him. “‘Distastefully atrocious’ seems to suit your outlook.”

“...Less-than-pleasant.” Somewhere in the depths of his imagination, Marth rolled his eyes with great fervor. “But you will definitely enjoy the weekly visits to Princess Peach’s castle.”

Rosalina seemed content. “I have no doubts,” she said. Marth lowered his hand, and the peach-colored stone dissipated from existence. “For the most part,” she continued, “the smashers I’ve met have been nothing short of splendid.”

“You won’t only be meeting smashers in the professional leagues,” said Zelda. “The amount of company has grown somewhat over the past few years, and that means you’re certain to always meet someone new, as well as meet other who have stuck around for as long as Peach herself can remember.” Her dark blue eyes brightened suddenly. “Stuck like flies to honey.”

“Like butterflies to a garden!” Peach insisted, and she crossed her arms purely for emphasis.

And the smashers settled themselves to continue the storytelling, at least until Meta Knight’s arrival. Marth, after Peach had made him and Zelda promise not to cause any trouble, stayed to listen to the mushroom princess herself claim the next round of tales.

Her story of choice included all the ways a mountain scaling race between the Ice Climbers and herself had gone wrong. “… And then I told Nana that pink just  _doesn’t_  go with that shade of green.” Several moments slogged by after she finished, and the rest of her audience had not ceased exchanging confused expressions.

Zelda had only begun to open her mouth when she noticed another shadow hovering over them; she, Rosalina, and even Pikachu smiled expectantly as they turned. But their expressions faltered at seeing who had come.

“Goddess Palutena,” Marth said softly, and then he stood up to meet her.

Before he could take the first step, Palutena stopped him with a hand. “Hello, princesses,” she greeted simply.

“My, a goddess!” Peach gasped. “You look like… like the statue in Skyworld’s Temple! You must be the Goddess of the Sky!”

Palutena lost her grimness for a moment. “Oh, thank you,” she chuckled. “But I’m just its ruler. The Goddess of the Sky is another being entirely. We’re actually good friends.” She glanced to Zelda for a second before speaking again. “In any case, I’ve seen your dangers, and you have my aid.”

“Oh?” Rosalina tilted her head. “Oh no. Divine intervention doesn’t sound very assuring.”

“Hmm? Why not?” Peach asked, looking to her.

“Because it means our situation is well out of our hands…” Rosalina murmured.

Zelda widened her eyes. “Goddess, tell us, what should we—”

“Don’t fret,” Palutena said. “And I ask you to keep to yourselves about this. I’d prefer to let everyone know myself.”

“I hope that’s soon.” Peach sighed. “What if  _another_  big giant pops up out of nowhere?”

“Then we’ll get ourselves ready as soon as possible,” the goddess replied. “Ah, right. I said I’d talk to Marth when I got back. May I borrow him for a few minutes?”

“We will carry on just fine  _without_ , thank you,” Zelda replied.

Marth felt the urge to lash out at her again—but he bit down hard on his tongue, hoping the pain would distract him for just this moment. He nodded silently, waving to the others, and followed Palutena to the light bridge.

 

* * *

 

 

During that walk Palutena revealed the same news she had told to Ike, Pit, and Link. Her words were much more concise than at the Palace, since to be succinct was to act with efficiency. At her request, Marth remained silent, and when she had finished, he spoke deliberately. “And… why are you telling  _me_  this? We should prepare—”

“No,” the goddess said. “We should wait.”

“Didn’t you say earlier we’re to get ready as soon as possible?” Marth stared at her. “And… and what of the Halberd?”

“It’s on its way.”

“No, I mean, what do the fighters know? The committee couldn’t…did you…?”

“And?” Palutena raised her brows at him. “They know the same thing the committee would have told them anyway. ‘Hurry and gather everyone you can. There’s great danger afoot.’”

“That’s kind of convoluted.”

They had arrived at the loading dock. “I wouldn’t be so curt in describing it,” the goddess responded, her ornaments tinkling softly as she turned to the open sky, “but a matter such as this is on the precipice of causing mass alarm. Complicated situations call for complicated solutions."

Marth contemplated her words. He wasn't sure what she was implying, but he did know she meant to exact some kind of control—for what? Wouldn't it have been better to move the others to action as soon as possible? To stomp out the danger before it spread?

"I... don't think I understand," he insisted. "What's—"

"Would you have done differently?” said Palutena.

 _Not really_ , he thought, but he couldn't think of anything that sounded like a fair rebuttal. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I see what you mean.”

Some clouds began to part far away in the distance, making room for the unmistakable figure of the fast-approaching Halberd. Palutena, pointing it out, said, “Then, we'll deal with the situation one thing at a time.”

The Halberd’s prow consisted of a large, circular mask of polished metal—and if that were not enough to present itself as Meta Knight’s proud airship, it also boasted bat-like wings, extended all the way out so as to cast a menacing shadow onto the earth below. As it neared the dock, the ship carried with it the constant drones of rocket engines blasting streams of blue fire. They rang so loudly that Palutena and Marth had to cover their ears.

Marth stole a glance backwards before knitting his brows at Palutena, tentatively using an elbow to point towards the Battlefield. He’d hoped to convey something like “ _Shall I go back now?_ _” with a_ slight grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Palutena acknowledged him with an incline of the head; raising it, she offered an assuring “ _I’ll take care of things”_ _with her smile._

Then the prince bowed, and he dashed away in order to retrieve the other smashers. Unseen to her, there was a concentrated frown that seemed to have affixed itself to him.

But why?

 

The ship arrived not long after, slowing into a hover, floating parallel to the dock. It lowered itself slowly, and Palutena, hands still on both sides of her head, could only sweep her gaze over the Halberd in all its majesty. Mortals, she supposed, would be overwhelmed—this behemoth was meant to make jaws drop and eyes bulge out of their sockets.

Of course, the ship was like an insect to the omniscience that was the goddess’s true form as one who overlooked the world. She thought its armaments were more for show than for efficiency, but she admired it all the same.

Meta Knight leapt from the top while it was still high above Palutena’s head. He spread out his cape like the wings of a bat and alighted safely in front of the goddess. She noticed that Meta Knight seemed to be speaking to her and motioning for her to follow him back onto the ship, so she nodded as an agreement to wait.

 

As she’d said, the goddess had been on the Halberd earlier. Upon her relocation inside the captain’s deck, a surly old bird at the wheel redirected her to Meta Knight’s attention, but only after questioning her motives thrice. Meta Knight, once he had finished speaking with her, allowed her to meet with the other smashers on board. It was here that they all made the agreement to reunite with the smashers on the Battlefield and redistribute weapons.

The Halberd had lowered itself completely by now. Meta Knight dashed to the door fixated on the edge. With a steady flapping of his cape-wings, he laid an outstretched hand to a nearby monitor and waited for it to flash green, then flew through the entrance once the door had slid upwards. The goddess followed slowly, switching glances between him and the hand scanner with curious eyes.

Meta Knight noticed her, leapt up at a switch on the inner wall, and tapped it. “The scanner distinguishes by aura,” he explained to her. “Much harder to replicate than genetic coding.” The door shot downwards, sending the echoes of its sharp  _whirr_  through the hallways that stretched left and right before the two of them. Overhead lights reflected as dull spots of white on the floor with not much else giving way to variety in all the grayness.

Palutena said nothing, then realized she had heard what Meta Knight told her. She listened again; there was only that low roaring, the faint rush of blood only heard behind covered ears. Smiling, she removed her hands. “I see. That is something to be thankful for. I’m also very thankful for the soundproof interior.”

“It was a basic need,” replied Meta Knight. “And about the invasion you spoke of…”

“I have no further news. The Archives are unlocked?”

“Fortunately. I’ll show you.” Then Meta Knight headed right, with Palutena in tow. She followed him past doors the color of rusted silver (though, as she reached out to touch one of them, she found the metal to be rather refined) and through a few passages seeming to last the entire length of the ship. She noticed that these hallways rarely branched in forks, and each split was marked with signs bordered in yellow and black stripes.  _Organized so simply for such a complex vessel_ , Palutena thought.

They came to a short hall. The only door at the end was rather large; a sign reading  _CONFERENCE_ on the adjacent wall pointed to an aura scanner. Meta Knight activated it easily—the door slid up. On the other side was a spacious room containing long tables and rows of chairs, and a stage was raised at the front—high enough for even the shortest creature to be visible to its audience.

A sizable crowd of smashers milled about, fully armed as if ready for a competitive match. But the fact that their inventories were accessible to them hadn’t stopped the shuffling of feet and the hushed worries.

A small red light directly overhead flashed from red to blue. “We’ve got company,” Meta Knight said. “If you are to stay with us, the hall is all yours.”

The goddess nodded serenely. “Thank you, again.”

Once the masked ball had left through the maze of corridors, Palutena heaved a sigh—to even  _think_  that she should relax at a time like this!—and took some steps toward the sea of smashers. She began to retreat to a place inside her head, presenting herself with everything she could perceive of the world at that very moment, searching for a plan in the midst of all the chaos. She really wished she had a solid one at the moment.

The scarlet haze engulfing the Coliseum had blackened, finally obscuring the flames from her view. She’d have to find a way to break through it.

She moved east. Above ice-capped mountains, the sky had turned an ominous crimson, but no sign of shadow monsters were in sight. She found a group of them situated in the canyons nearby, festering at its base like insects of a colony. She’d have to get to sending rescue ships as soon as possible.

And then there was Pit. Soaring over Gaur Plain to the far west, he was—

“…Pit?”

Not locating him meant not establishing a mental link. With no mental link there was no communication.

She closed her eyes, feeling for the angel’s vitality waves somewhere, anywhere. She felt—she sensed the natural ether, the life force of what  _was_. It ran over the contours of her spirit, bounding and responding to her incorporeal force. She could distinguish among every specimen that  _existed_  there.

Pit was not one of them.

She attempted to calm her breathing then. Just before she left she had told him to head straight down—and this was where he was supposed to be. Maybe she had overlooked something? He couldn’t have just disappeared!

If he wasn’t here, where could he have gone? What could have happened to him? She couldn’t send any world-wide mind waves in this state. Not without drawing from the pool of magic within the Palace.

 _The Palace…_ She paled—but she pushed the feeling away. The worst couldn’t have happened yet.

“Goddess?” someone called to her, causing her to jump slightly.

She saw one of the smashers had approached her. “Oh—forgive me, Miss Samus, I...” Palutena blinked. “I hadn’t realized I might have been in a daze there.”

The Smashworld-famous bounty hunter had chosen to embark with just her Zero Suit and her Paralyzer, although the gun was safely Indexed away currently. She lowered her head as she looked at the goddess. “No, forgive  _me_. Many of the smashers here were wondering if you had some new announcement. You seemed like everything’s gotten worse.”

Another bounty hunter, tall and notably muscular, was standing next to Samus: Captain Falcon, boasting fame in both smash competitions and speed racing. He folded his arms. “We’ll be ready if it has.”

Palutena was silent for a few moments before shaking her head slowly. “No, no. I’m only thinking.” Then, noticing she had attracted the attention of the smashers immediately surrounding her, she smiled with a natural grace. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured them. “You all will get to inquire me once everyone is here and we begin the, ah, symposium.” Confused murmurs wafted out from some, causing the goddess to clear her throat. “We’re going to discuss how to attack the invasion.”

A chorus of understanding  _ah_ ’s echoed around her.

“Hold on,” said a burly voice from the back; it belonged to the hefty King Dedede. “I could’ve taken over the entire ship by now, and we’d be headed straight to this ‘spawning point’ you told us about.” He ignored the leery glares pointed at him. “Seriously! A strategy talk?”

Palutena blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Hmp!” Dedede puffed. “Not like any of us have actually  _seen_  those whatever-they-are’s up close. Ain’t that the case?” Some of the other smashers’ adamant expressions faltered slightly. “If it’s an outer-barrier invasion, we don’t need all this! Not yet! And besides, we fight for a living, and we’ve fought for our lives, too. We can do it on our own!”

“I—”

The fighter pilot Falco cleared his throat loud enough for Palutena to hear. “Penguin has a point. Let us send word to the rest of Team Star Fox and we can do some intel if you like, but we’ve been there, done that—”

“Yeah!” Mac’s voice cut in from elsewhere in the room. “Let us fight!”

Dedede nodded smugly amidst the few agreements to his motion. “A couple of bugs are nothing! Why, even without powerheads like King Koopa or—”

“ _Listen to me_ ,” the goddess boomed, making even the toughest fighters cringe. Her form assumed a corona of light. Power boiled within her. “They are not mindless. They think. They plan. They’ve succeeded when we least expected it.” She paused, took a breath—the light faded, but she retained her stature. She then shimmered from sight and promptly reappeared on the high stage. She summoned her staff and brought its base crashing down, immediately silencing the room. “I don’t mind dispatching my own intel, if it should calm everyone’s nerves. But I’ll be brief.”

Palutena sighed lightly; Pit wouldn’t need to wait much longer. “Based on what we know from watching both the spawning point and the colossus attack earlier, our enemy knows us. They are observant, and they are not going to destroy us through means of sheer willpower. Until we can fully assess the threat, I’ve opted to have the professional leagues engage the enemy first for obvious reasons. That is why I must have all of you—or, at least, those of you that are willing—gathered here. Until you are all situated and outfitted, we cannot begin moving to the enemy’s spawn point.”

The once-protesting fighters mumbled to themselves; Dedede frowned at the ground. “We don’t even have a name for so-called enemy, and you think you can just come down from the Aethers and tell us what to do?”

“As I’ve said before, this is a voluntary cause. Deserters definitely will not be punished by any means.” Palutena exhaled the negative feelings that had been collecting in her gut. “I’m here not only because it’s my duty, but also because I think it’s the right thing to do. Haven’t you all got reasons to save your homes? Fight to save the world that Master Hand once gave his life for? I know that during the invasion of Tabuu’s army you all had faced constant failures among the successes.” She placed a pleading hand on her chest. “I want to use my divinity to help you reduce those failures now—so that you spend less time as a trophy and more time fighting with us. Does that answer all your questions?”

Dedede looked away. “Yeah. Fine. Patience is a virtue.”

“Right. And don’t worry. I’ll have a name for our enemy soon enough,” Palutena said, teleporting from the stage to the exit at the other end of the room. “Definitely soon.” Once the door was shut behind her she was facing the monotony of the Halberd passageways once more.

Palutena wiped sweat from her brows. It had been a while since she’d taken charge over beings far more independent and sentient than hordes of centurions.

Now that she was alone she had Pit to find.

She believed in him, she had said. That meant she would have heard Pit’s calls to her regardless of the distance, no matter how faint, but she had heard nothing even until now.

The what-ifs kept coming to her; what if he was taken? Stolen? Defeated? Lost? What if it took too long to find him? What if the smashers rejected the plans she’d put so much faith in? What if it meant the end of Smashworld?

The pupils of her eyes grew large, filling with an etheric light. No, she wouldn’t have to worry about the what-ifs. She believed in him, and she believed she would find him.

Palutena visited Gaur Plain again, this time superficially imposing herself over it. Her image was faint and she was no longer able to scope out specific life forces; true omniscience was harder for her to maintain, being so far from the Palace.

The Palace…? A frightening thought crossed her mind—no, she had to focus on where she was now. But the land spread out before her just the same. Though the trees were sparse, their leaves were rustling against each other with summer life. The spires of titanic remains, now overgrown with vegetation, gazed over the plains like silent guardians, as they had been doing for ages. The fauna, too, was nothing short of alive—species of pokémon and fantastical monsters in herds and small families roamed freely, coexisting in this long-undisturbed ecosystem of wildlife.

She had been hoping that Pit had just been preoccupied with something that happened to catch his interest—Pit was just the type to get easily distracted—but her inquiry procured the same answer as before: he was nowhere in the great swath of grassland.

Her second self veered skyward. “There’s no way that they could have,” Palutena murmured to herself, but, upon glancing at the Palace from far above, she saw nothing alarming. If her Temple was a citadel, the Palace was the majestic castle—and it appeared unassuming, to her relief.

Perhaps Pit was still here, for some reason. A small part of her logic told her she wouldn't have so much trouble locating his aura if that were the case, but she ignored it. Palutena placed herself on the grounds of the Palace to search.

That  _push_  jettisoned her from the sky before she could even react, and darkness clouded her vision. Her eyes shot open; her pupils shrank back to their normal size, and she saw the cold metal walls of the Halberd once more.

“How?” she gasped, instantly recognizing it from earlier in the day: that push had been like the one keeping her from the Coliseum’s interior. The same unsettling twilight had descended upon her as it did back then, and, even worse, the same whispers were there, forcefully escorting her out of it:  _Aftó pot’leia ëte nai sas, praepositil ton lux._

She was most proficient in Kythid, the universal language of all trophies. She also spoke all the dialects of Cherubic, and was a master of the long-dead Seraphitic. She could probably hold a conversation in languages of outer-border lands—only Elibean remained beyond her reach. And then, there was Awyleor—she’d last heard it as a language spoken among her elder spirits, her mentors, when she was still a budding goddess. They all had passed on to The Standing eons ago—so why had she heard it now, spoken to her in a chorus of such breathy and macabre voices?

The words were like bile to her and they made sense all the same. Awyleor was her primitive tongue, and there was no denying what she had been told. _This place does not belong to you, Goddess of Light._

She shivered with an unprecedented feeling of praying to beings above herself that she hadn’t been right.

She believed. The Palace’s safeguards would buy her time. And there was also all the defense magic still woven into the architecture of the building. But that mass of shadow would just repel her again. Would she even be able to set foot on the Palace island? And Pit. He was probably there! Surrounded by wiry swarms, ghosts of the unknown. Having only himself to rely on, because  _she_  was—

“Goddess,” said a voice from the far end of the corridor.

Palutena raised her head, seeing Meta Knight flapping towards her. “Back already?”

“Already? It’s been quite a while.” He held up a small light orb that was flashing different colors of jade. “I hold the Archives key, you see. Which means I have to preside over what the others are taking out.”

“Of course,” she replied, and then Meta Knight passed her without another word into the conference hall.

The victors of the battle against the colossus entered the corridor a few moments later. Marth, who had been leading them, hastened over to the goddess. “Is everything all right?” he questioned.

“Yes, I—” Palutena’s voice cracked, causing her to clear her throat. “It looks fine so far.” She paused to breathe slow and even. “Thank you for helping to run everything smoothly. Especially since I’ve got to be more expeditious after this.”

“I don’t mind in the least,” he replied, though he regarded her with more caution now. “I’ll just take everyone inside, then.”

“Right, I’ll—”  _Lady Palutena_ , she thought.

...She thought?

 _Lady Palutena,_ she thought again. No, she’d heard it! That voice was quiet, and it sounded distant, but it wasn’t hers, which meant...

“I’ll join you all in a second,” she said, eyes widening, and she watched the smashers file past her. Then she closed her eyes slowly.

 

The clouds roared past Pit, Link, and Ike with dizzying speed, and they might as well have gone on forever.

Pit called out below him. No reply came. He did this several more times, each repetition further tugging at the absolute horror drowned only by his adrenaline.

And, even after realizing that Link and Ike were probably unconscious or somehow petrified, there was still time to think, to contemplate everything that was suddenly thrust at him today—and he quickly realized just how far the Palace of the Sky was from the ground.

…The ground that would hurt  _oh-so-bad_ , Pit thought, and he could no longer contain his terror.

Then, as he yelled with tears streaming freely from his eyes, a familiar energy surged through his being:  _“Pit!”_

Pit barely heard his own thoughts above the volume of his voice, but he could always hear his goddess when she called to him; now was no different. “Oh my gosh!  Lady Palutena!" Pit could do little to slow his fall, much less help the two swordsmen tumbling beneath him. So he called out to Palutena again, albeit he found it hard not to scream what he tried to speak. "Lady Palutena! Are you really there?"

 _“I hear you loud and clear, Pit.”_ She laughed (and, unseen to him, blinked the wetness from her eyes as soon as it surfaced). _“I’m so glad you’re alright!_ ”

The ground was getting closer now. "Yeah, I’m still in one piece, but I won’t be…” he trailed off into a whimper. “OhgoshI’mkindafinished." He’d be making impact in less than half a minute! “Please!” he cried. “A little help!”

Not difficult at all. “ _Just brace for impact,”_  Palutena instructed.

Pit took her words to mean that he would definitely be colliding with the ground in a less-than-angelic descent. But he simply spread his wings, tucking his arms tightly, becoming a missile aimed for the worst and praying for the best.

Pit shut his eyes, and he fell.

He grunted loudly against the thick cloud padding that broke his fall. His skull ached from landing headfirst, and his back stung a little from the way he came flopping down immediately afterwards—but, otherwise, he was okay, and he was definitely not a trophy. The dirt ground lay some tens of feet below. “Wow,” he breathed, pushing himself to his feet. “That was… unexpected.”

 _“Next time, tell me a little beforehand when you’re going to be falling to your own calcification_ ,” Palutena chided.

Pit humphed. “Tell me a little beforehand when you’re going to be totally  _AWOL_! I was so...” He faltered, swallowing slowly before continuing. “I was worried. Don’t tell me you didn’t see the Palace! It’s—”

 _“I’m sorry. I know I left you vulnerable for a long time. I won’t allow that to happen again,_ " she said with sudden seriousness. A moment of silence passed, with Pit frowning worriedly at the sky above. “ _I don’t know all the details of what’s happened to you three, but it’s clear we need to change our plans. And by that, I mean yours. It'll take a few days at the very least for those things to reach the angelic lumoglyphs, and we need to do the best we can to stop it. Fate knows whatever else they might be after."_

"So…" Pit said. "They need our magic?" 

_"Maybe more. But you all have to get a move on and find that swarm."_

“Swarm?” Pit asked.

_“That’s what they are, I’m sure of. Creating a network across Smashworld and then feeding off it bit by bit.”_

"So they  _are_ going to suck my brains out!”

“ _No, they’re not.”_

“Oh, that's right," Pit began, laughing nervously, but it was soon replaced with a confidence that surged through him once more. "That’s right! We can't lose to them!"

 _"Aye aye, captain,"_ Palutena replied, mirroring his enthusiasm. " _I’ll try to reclaim the Palace by sunset, and then I’ll be able to map out our enemy movements from there. It seems they move quickly when they need to, but they’re not in a hurry to spread out.”_

Pit nodded enthusiastically. “Okay! Then we’ll just have to stomp them out!”

 _“Go get ‘em,_ ” said Palutena. “ _Oh, I should probably ask. Shouldn't you go help your friends out first?”_

“Huh?” Then, whipping his head left and right in a frantic search, Pit spotted two sizable rips in the cottony fluff some ways from where he was standing.

 

* * *

 

 

Palutena entered the conference hall and teleported to the stage as she had done before, this time calling the smashers to attention with an audible blast of energy from her staff. “Everyone!” she called. “We’re going upwards to the Palace in the Sky! Battle awaits us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kythid" and "Awyleor" are derived from Anglo Saxxon words and that mildly implies Palutena's mentors aren't of Greek origin. They're not... they're completely made up by this author...


	8. Intermission i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When I tried to isolate it, it disappeared. It was just everywhere! I have a feeling the primes, closest to The Powers That Were—the Elder Aether and the Ancients—know a lot more about it than anyone in this land. Or... rather, they are the only ones capable of fully understanding what it means."  
> —P.F., "Biologia Gladiatoris"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for latin/greek nonsense words again and also a load of italics.
> 
> // post-rewrite edit:  
> Again, this chapter is purely for infodump and also for better understanding the world these characters live in. Kind of like sidenotes to a page, where it means nothing to the plot but the reader knows a little more about what they're reading. Now that I actually have a bigger sense of things most of this is unchanged, but, hey, the intermissions are by an author of somewhat anonymous nature. They're Nintendo characters, of course, but...
> 
> The actual text in the intermissions is "annotated" so as to provide reference between this world and the imaginary Smashworld.

**Intermissio**

**from Biologia Gladiatoris (an annotated reference)**

 

Many video games contain a variety of lifeforms that draw from the biology of our own world. This does not mean that, for example, all enemies in the Mother universe are actually based off living organisms on Earth, but this does mean that a game series featuring more than one species must have some kind of classification system.

According to official sources, the land traveled in the Subspace Emissary is referred to “the world of trophies,” at other times called “this world.” The names of things exclusive to the Smash Bros. universe tend to be simple and almost intuitive in nature (barring those of the Subspace Army), so  _In the Wake of Legends_  refers to the world of trophies as “Smashworld.”

The trophies are classified in the games by video game series, offering sundry glimpses of the respective universes represented. This supports the intended way to view the Smash Bros. universe: a mixing pot with all of its ingredients kept intact. Many works of fiction draw on this idea, e.g., all characters are staying in a large mansion, or a resort complex, but the unspoken rule is that their homes lie elsewhere beyond the world of trophies. That, of course, is a legitimate possibility, but it goes without saying that there are other ways to interpret a concept.

Master Hand’s trophy description refers to him as “a being tied to the link between this world, where trophies fight, and the world beyond.” What the sentence is intended to mean is up to personal opinion, but for  _Wake of Legends_ , it serves to inform that competitive fighting is specific to Smashworld, and only trophies are capable of taking part in it.

The question still stands as to what trophies are in the world built for them—the world of  _Wake of Legends._ Thus begins a short discourse.

(It should be noted that “this world” refers to the real world, and not Smashworld.)

 

 **Taxonomy**  

In the days when the Elder Aether and the Ancients were beginning to release their hold of the earth, when the smashers of current day had not been incarnated yet, when the prime fighters were just beginning to establish civilization—a taxonomy was devised. It functions similar to this world’s binomial nomenclature: kingdoms are separated into phyla, which are further separated into classes, orders, etc.

Basic education requires students to learn and memorize how trophies are classified in Smashworld, and are taught the following:

 

The domains of life are  _Elousia_ and  _Vitae_ : respectively inheriting and not inheriting an absolute energy referred to as  _ousia_. The distribution of magical potency seems to favor the  _Elousia_ domain, as far as studies have advanced, but both domains have formed their own systems of magics (which, therefore, has led to further questioning of the nature of magic).

 _Vitae_  includes non-sentient but living items (Kingdom  _Atoma_ ), beings such as most animals and plants (Kingdom  _Capil_ ; very similar to this world’s flora and fauna), and magic energy-inheriting organisms (Kingdom  _Magivasculare)_. Trophies do not exist in this domain;  _Vitae_  can be thought of as that which is primal and wild—that which had existed Before, while  _Elousia_  is that which is refined and evolved—that which has come into existence After.

 _Elousia_ , the true domain of trophies, splits into two kingdoms,  _Aletheia_ and _Obidem_.

 _Aletheia_ is the kingdom virtually every fighter and trophy falls into—the primary classifying features being:

  1. species must be sentient, capable of independent, cognitive thought
  2. species must be able to move freely
  3. species must possess  _ousia_  and be able to utilize it



In a larger vein, it is item 3 that reigns as most important—for the presence of ousia distinguishes smashers from things such as  _Vitae_  organisms (even those in the  _Magivasculare_ kingdom _,_ for it had been discovered that magical energy and ousia were quite different).

Ousia exists not only in living beings, but in the air—resting throughout the land like sand blown in the wind. This is evident in the fact that inanimate objects are among the many collectible trophies in the Super Smash Brothers games. Thus, there is the  _Obidem_  kingdom—full of essence but incapable of functioning independently.

The full definition of ousia (at least, pertaining to  _Wake of Legends_ ) will be detailed at another time.

 

 _Aletheia_ divides into two phyla:  _Proles_ and  _Theoheres._

 _Theoheres_  is largely unexplored, but is theorized to contain beings directly bearing ousia, rather than having strong ties with it. Master Hand and Crazy Hand fall into this category, as well as the twelve prime smashers that sit atop the committee. Currently, no other species are known.

Unlike its sibling kingdom,  _Proles_  divides into numerous classes—Divinit, Homs, Amanita, Pokémon, Kosmos, etc. From that, organisms are classified into genae, and finally, the individual species of Smashworld.

Such is the basic taxonomy recognized in Smashworld: Domain, Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Genus, Species. (It goes without saying that this world requires more orders of classification, hence the nonexistence of an order or a family grouping in Smashworld)

 

**Life Cycle**

Truly, Smashworld is a diverse land, teeming with a vivacious array of inhabitants.

Time is divided the same way it is in this world, although the concept of the passage of "years" seems to differ between the two worlds. To the sentient, especially trophies, age is nonexistent—so the passage of time is likewise perceived differently. It seems to explain why things change so drastically between games, since those under the  _Vitae_  domain generally live as long as their counterparts in this world, thus providing hundreds of real years of evolution (meanwhile the trophies live their years out as if one were a hundred).

But what of the  _Elousia_? What is their life cycle?

Currently, only the life cycle of the  _Proles_  is known, since  _Obidem_ species are theorized to be eternal (or, at least, have so far demonstrated qualities suggesting they are virtually incapable of decay or absolute destruction), and  _Theoheres_  contains too sparse a number of individuals to conclude anything.

 

A more proper word for “birth” of a being in  _Proles_ would be “incarnation.” The mystical energy flowing through the universe, ousia, coalesces into a trophy fighter. These fighters begin, as one might have guessed, infantile.

As said before, age is not relative to time, but rather the growth of energy and maturity—the more powerful a trophy becomes, the "older" it gets. A trophy ages—growing and learning and honing skills—and after some time, the trophy reaches a stage similar to this world’s puberty. In Smashworld, this is simply treated as a readiness to assert one’s identity as a fighter. A trophy in this stage will be able to awaken the ousia that has been growing in might and be able to begin training for matches if they so choose to follow that path, as well as developing any magical potential they might have discovered.

(Note: A discussion on magic and life energy/ousia shall be detailed at a later time, likely in the next installment of Biology)

 

Once trophies master this power, "aging" slows to a halt, and their sole biological drive to fight is acted upon and developed even further over the numerous Smashworld years.

The ghosts of ethereal spirits scattered over Smashworld and its neighboring lands are, many hypothesize, grouped somewhat like a flock of birds or a pack of wolves in this world, which would certainly explain the close correlation among certain smashers. Families, too, have formed over time; the bond between trophies seems to ignite a union of essences, allowing new trophies to be formed from thin air and raised as a child. It might be strange in this world, but Smashworld views it as an expected occurance. (There has been research into reproductive ability and its biological function, but such details are not for this section.)

What is  _unexpected_ in the cycle of life is permanent death: a trophy passing from corporeal existence into what is commonly referred to as The Standing, which simply involves the spirit within a trophy to irrevocably return to the aether, while he or she ceases to exist as a physical entity.

The cause of this, for  _Proles_ , is nowhere related to injury or a ceasing of functions—since, after all, trophies are merely incarnations of energy and lack the same biological needs we do in this world. Death does seem, however, to be strictly related to a complete depletion of  _ousia_. How exactly such an essence is exhausted is still unknown, besides the theory that it deteriorates over massive amounts of time. Another likely cause is exacerbated self-abuse, as demonstrated in Smashworld’s  _Historia_.

In any case, the Standing is still purely historical (or, to cynics, completely mythological), but to enter The Standing is treated similar to dying in this world: with mixed opinion.

A more detailed fitting of The Standing in Smashworld’s history will be shown at another time.

 

**Composition**

A final question: what are the building blocks of life?

It would be all too simple to say that cells are indeed the main component of living things—and they are, for something such the  _Vitae_  domain, both magically charged and not. But the fact that Mr. Game and Watch is composed of antimatter shadow bugs, which are able to clone and recreate any fighter in  _Aletheia_ , had led to relatively new discoveries.

It was actually after the finding of this antimatter that researchers had begun to conduct investigations of the highest intensity that are still in progress today.

So far, they have found that beings in  _Elousia_   possess the following:

  * Genetic code; DNA (and, as a corollary, organic compounds)
  * Ousia (A free-flowing energy. Comparable to the importance of blood, but not a stand-in for it.)
  * Void particles (The same "antimatter" that makes up the majority of Game and Watch)



A side note: Smashers do not bleed. They cannot suffer from attacks that a living creature in this world would most likely get killed by. Surprisingly, organisms in the domain  _Elousia_  lack a skeleton, or a cardiovascular system, or even most organs. In any case, since it is impossible to dissect any fighter, given that the being will simply revert to trophy form, the anatomy and physiology of a trophy fighter is an extremely esoteric pursuit of knowledge.

 

What are void particles? For Smashworld, it seems as if antimatter's function is currently unexplainable. But antimatter is a void—or, as some see it, a paradoxical mix of artificial reality. Something that should be there, but isn't—and yet, the being is whole and complete.

In P.F.'s full publication  _Biologia Gladiatoris_ , the author compares void to looking at a blue circle, and "wondering what it is made of; but the deeper one goes, there is nothing but more blue." The most commonly accepted hypothesis is that antimatter chiefly serves to give ousia a vessel (“infinite energy and infinite matter converge to create new, finite boundaries,” P.F. writes) to inhabit in the form of a trophy that, when activated, is alive and flowing through the DNA of that trophy's cells or parts. Therefore, they are referred to as void particles.

The particles can be manipulated in the same manner that they were in the Subspace Emissary; they are mass-produced to serve as making temporary clones of characters for competitive matches or of giant beings such as Ridley or Petey Piranha for a more exciting showdown. The same concept also applies to the various items used in Smash, including the many types of Pokéballs and Masterballs that exist as summons.

Nevertheless, the particles are still an enigma.

 _Wake of Legends_  upholds that each and every fighter in Smashworld originated from Smashworld and are not the actual characters from their supposed video game series. They are not mere "copies" of these characters, either. I suppose one could call this Smashworld a sort of parallel-multiverse-merge where, for example, Yoshi in the Mario series, Yoshi in the Smash games, and Yoshi in Smashworld are fundamentally the same character, but mean something different to each of those respective worlds.

The land of Smashworld is almost isolated. Almost, because, as many characters have already mentioned, there is a seemingly infinite world outside the borders called the Lands Beyond—places that have fallen into ruin, nations with citizens that have become subject to a cycle of mortality, and time has seemed to stop indefinitely.

But in Smashworld, life can be incredibly simple. The trophy knows their own concept: all trophies' sole existence is to fight—whether it is for glory, for fame, for progress, or even for simply making the world a better place. Then, why are trophies so complex, each one unique and carrying their own heritages, powers, and unspoken legacies? Why do many questions still exist for them?

The answer is simple: they know nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the kind of stuff you'd get in, like, the bible to any fictional series. I might consider reuploading these intermissions as a separate work, but for now, here they are in the raw.
> 
> And we haven't even gone into the inner mechanics of Smash competitions-- i mean, assist trophies? food? also antimatter =/= the antimatter of this world's particle physics  
> There hasn't been much talk of Master Hand even though he governs the world and, naturally, trophies (but is not anywhere close to a god figure). He'll get his time, some time.
> 
> //post rewrite edit: (this part has been unchanged since publication)
> 
> Next intermission will be HIstoria Gladiatoris I.


	9. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Three squares of seaweed, five drops of nuçai berry extract, steeped no longer than two minutes. Going beyond any of these measurements is going to make someone VERY sick."  
> —from the notebook of the Overseer of the Shepherds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //post-rewrite  
> I still hold that this fic was strangely predictive of some of Smash4's components without even trying. But now that we've have both games released, I'm going to adapt.

Her father promised.

Stressed to her many times that he would be back before the third sunset. Smiled at her, kissed her forehead. Ruffled her long, cobalt hair the way he always did. Assuring and confident, never afraid. Said his farewells to her as the entire settlement looked on with adoration. Disappeared beyond the gates, Falchion in hand and white cape trailing behind him.

She’d watched four sunsets come and go. Today would be the fifth.

The wind was crisp, gently prodding the clouds along—it seemed as if they were parts of a sailcloth with every inch dipped in the colors of a summer evening. It would have been something to admire, but now the reddening sun only announced the beginning of another night of fretting, the mornings bringing less sunshine.

On the ground, the gates of the valley settlement cast long and sorrowful shadows over the dirt pathway. She could feel them hovering beneath her feet and in the space about her—she didn’t care if they meant to comfort or to choke.

“Lucina,” said another girl near her of about the same age. There was a small and dusty book with yellowed pages tucked under one arm. “Please, I really suggest you get some sleep. You’ve missed roll call two nights in a row already.”

Lucina only answered with a sigh. It carried in one breath what many words would have spoken.

The other, receiving the sentiment, only looked away and continued to speak. She opened the book she was carrying, quickly locating a page; its corner had been folded in slightly as a bookmark, and the printed text on it was beginning to fade. “I’ve read the entry process—every page of the so-called ‘Smash Dojo’ rulebook, in fact. Sometimes it can take months to get a trophy’s essence properly registered, especially since it’s been only a few years since we crossed the  _Aporie…_ like we’re still foreign, you know? Can’t let someone go until everything’s all set and proper.”

No reply; just a prompting glare.

“… You’re usually not this tight-lipped,” she continued, unceremoniously tucking the book into a pocket on the inside of her violet hooded robe. “Does Chrom’s leaving for this ‘Rostering’ really trouble you that much?”

Silence. Then, Lucina turned her back to the world outside the gates. “You really think simple words like those are going to work,” she said flatly. “Even  _I_  gather information when I have an obligation to, Robin, and you can’t tell me those guidelines aren’t a whole decade old.”

Robin twirled a silver bunch of hair with one finger; the sky tinted it a dull orange. “Fine, you’ve got me there. But I’m honestly concerned about your…well, everything.”

“Are you?”

“I’m one hundred percent serious,” Robin insisted. “For the past two days you’ve just trained in the morning and then paced around here for hours on end.” Her frown worsened. “You don’t even sleep! How you’re still living is a miracle!”

Lucina narrowed her eyes at Robin as if any scrutiny would reveal a hidden agenda, but Robin’s steely countenance had a particular softness that brooked no suspicion.

Feeling forced to withdraw her aggression, the cobalt-haired girl shook her head slowly. She breathed once—in, out, allowing herself to cool—and nodded. “I…suppose you have a point,” she said. “But Father—”

“This isn’t about him,” Robin interrupted sharply. “This is about  _you_. You know he can hold his own by himself should anything ever happen, but nothing ever really happens. That’s why we and the other Shepherds settled here in the first place, right?” She placed a hand on the other girl’s shoulder then, neither tentative nor firm, but proper. “People can be read, too.”

“... You say so.” Lucina drew a breath, gazing distantly at the world beyond. She closed her eyes slowly. “It’s—it’s nothing but silly notions, really.”

“Silly?” Robin blinked, drawing her hand back. “... It can’t be anything to make fun of, I’m sure.”

Lucina stepped forward with determination, turned to give Robin the most defiant scowl she could muster, and said, “I heard you hesitate. You were  _thinking_  it might be something to make fun of.”

"Oh?" Then Robin started to giggle. It floated up feebly, wavering between soft and stifled—and, like a bubble, it burst into a jolly laugh.

Lucina flared up again, throwing aside her attempt to control herself. “See!” she exclaimed. “You can’t hide! You didn’t come to help me at all!”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Robin, still chuckling. “But look at you—you’re pouting! Makes me wonder how you're older by a couple months.” She cleared her throat, seeing the livid face glaring at her. “Of course, I mean to say that even children have someone who will listen to their fears.”

“Hm,” said Lucina, watching the stubs of grass going flat beneath her feet.  She heard Robin call to her, and felt the name sail past her into the far-off expanse of plains. Then she spoke: “I shouldn’t have blown up at you. Forgive me.” She sighed, this time with her head and shoulders lowered ever so lightly. “…Nightmares.”

“Ah,” Robin said gently. “About?”

“The most horrible creatures you can imagine. Like Risen, but made of this…dark fire. No—maybe comparing them to Risen isn’t accurate.” Her voice was no longer her thoughts. She spoke without pausing to think between sentences, only communicating what resurfaced from her memories. “The kind of nightmares where you can only watch as they come after you. After Father, too, and other faces. Some I recognize and some I don’t. But I always wake up before they grab me. As if telling me that it’s not real. But it was real. It was just like before, like when we were almost… but now… now I don’t know what to trust. And I... I'm.” She fell into a quiet for some moments, collecting herself. "I just don't know what to do about it."

Robin watched the clouds. All sorts of eldritch creatures prowled atop them, gnashing their teeth, groaning against each other like crooked trees—or so she conjured. “I really am glad you shared that, you know.”

“Because it’s childish,” said Lucina.

“Because it’s kept you out here,” replied Robin, shaking her head.  “Listen. Would you at least come back to dinner? Lissa has committed herself to teaching Donnel to take over cooking duties.”

“I don’t believe dinner will be very pleasant, then.”

“Oh—” Robin sighed. “Just you see! I’ll watch him like a falcon. It’s my talent, after all.” She puffed her cheeks then, but she saw Lucina’s defenses had melted enough to allow a small smile—which, Robin decided, meant that she had been right to come here.

The two of them stayed near enough that their shadows were one, inseparable all along the path leading to a cluster of tents nestled between a pair of hills.

 

Their settlement was nameless, officially, but all the inhabitants called it “Home”. The hills that bordered it were part of a quiet section of Gaur Plain where far and few trees skirted the entrance to Smashworld’s largest forest. In the settlement itself, there was not a single building in it completely pristine, all of them boasting patches, scraps of tarp or spare rugs—and the number of buildings in Home could be counted on three fingers.

The rest of the settlement was a mess of coarse awnings and dwelling tents stretched right and left by wooden stakes dug into the ground. If one hadn’t known better, the first thought would be that Home was some large-scale, nomadic marketplace. Inhabitants milled about from the first cracks of sunlight to the darkening onset of night, and every which way one looked there were flashes of carmine and taupe, interchanges of every sort peppering the air.

In one stall: “Did you receive the design for the hilt?” “Yes, but I’m not quite done forging it yet.”

By a tent: “I’m not sure if I want to go out to the Bionis remains at this time of day.” “Why don’t we go see who’s challenging last week’s winner at Arena Ferox?”

A pleasant buzzing of greetings and idle conversation beat its wings at Lucina and Robin, and it circled their heads just as it circled the heads of those around.

Though it seemed so, Home was most definitely not nomadic—at least, hopefully not for a very long time—as grass had grown lush and verdant right up to the first peg. After that, inhabitants walked on dirt, hardened after years of footfalls and trods, hoofbeats and wheel trails.

There  _had_  been plans to properly pave the grounds. Granted, economic profits were minimal and settlement improvements had to be chosen with extreme discretion, but, in Chrom’s words, all the other established colonies and districts “had to have started from nowhere, just like us.” That was why he was eager to secure a spot in the fourth Rostering the moment he’d received his invitation; fighters of the professional leagues received considerable amounts of gold even for simply showing up to matches.

Yet, as it had been for years, the number of buildings in Home could only be counted on three fingers. They were built to be the most important of stations—the hospital, the armory, and the mess hall—which made Home’s value little other than a reliable waypoint for travelers. The settlement left much to be desired after that, and it had long to be even close to changing for the better.

Robin, with Lucina shadowing behind, counted only blue tentings, turned left after she had passed four of them, and headed to a particularly large construct of tree logs and sanded wood.

_What a welcome sight_ , she thought. “Are you really hungry?”

“Well, maybe a little to settle myself,” was the reply. The door’s creaking could be heard, for once; today, the mess hall was not bustling. In fact, the building seemed mostly empty.

What a welcome sound.

 

Robin always made lists. If the book in her hand wasn’t a magic tome, it was a notebook: pages of numbered words and sidenotes, arrows pointing in every direction to scribbles, even short three-second drawings that helped her memorize things—like the exact formula used for brewing non-lethal weight loss tea. She knew exactly what she would need to know and what she might need to know, but they both meant the same to her in the end. Soon enough, she would be able to write the notes entirely in her head, and have no need to write everything down like  _he_  did.

She felt no urge to push herself, however, because Overseeing wasn't his job. He only had the militia to guide. She had the entire settlement.

As such, she’d already catalogued the “it’s coming along nicely” state of the mess hall a few weeks ago. Most of the trading and mercenary work done in the past year had gone straight to importing enough logs and wood to fully furnish the building. Now it was completed and fully functional, so Robin was glad to sweep her eyes over the area as if it were some dear accomplishment to her. She named things in her head; the walls, ceiling and floor were mulberry, which had been readily available within a few miles; the chairs were birch, although Robin was eager for alternatives because they easily broke; there was an oven in the back made of stone, travertine from the lake—

Then Robin remembered her original intents for coming here, which were to plan this week’s meal divisions and, more importantly, to settle Lucina’s probably-still-agitated state.

Lucina sat down at a table ( _surprisingly cheap_ _mahogany_ , Robin recalled without looking), and said, “I suppose I’ll wait.” Her attention was entirely on the crumbs scattered over the wood, which she swept aside with the back of her hand.

“No? You don’t want to witness the creation of a refined gourmet chef?” Robin inquired half-jokingly.

“I don’t quite feel in peak condition for training, and I’d rather rest after walking all this way,” Lucina replied curtly.

It seemed to Robin that any further attempt would do more harm than help, so she assured, “...I’ll, um, only be a few minutes, then,” and she slipped away, calling “Lissa!” as she left through a stone arch where the kitchen was located.

 

After Lucina turned her attention back to herself she began to drum her fingers on the table. She sat there hunched over, arms crossed, thinking  _I sure have been waiting a lot, haven’t I?_

Waiting to be crushed, probably; the walls stood so far away and yet, every second passed closed them in further. Everything around her had been both empty and suffocating lately, and this was no different—no, not this time. Emotions wouldn’t get the best of her again. She had to think.

She had to think, she repeated to herself, of positive things. The log walls were stacked and cemented quite sturdily. The wood sides, the interior, was sanded smooth with white spots of sunlight on its lacquer—far from the dilapidated look a year ago. The hall was large enough to contain a dragon  _and then some_ , but the same could not be said in its ability to withhold the gleeful clamor that supper hour had always brought. …So much space, so much fellowship, and it was not enough to keep her from ignoring the iron bars that seemed to be caging her lately.

It was then that Lucina decided there was no use in denying her premonitions. Sighing, she removed the cape draped around her shoulders, rolled it into a crude ball of dark-blue fabric, and set it on the table in front of her.

Her father promised.

He had promised that everyone who had come here from a world of troubles would finally rest. Her father, Home’s chieftain and lifeline, had also promised he would be back soon. He never broke promises—Lucina knew that—but ever since those nightmares began the week before she’d had nothing but that worry nipping at her, like some insect sticking its needle-like proboscis straight into her heart.  _And Robin treated it as if it were just a bad dream!_ she thought, but Robin was not to blame.

Lucina knew Chrom was only supposed to go and register for a newcomer’s position, then travel home and await a callback letter.

Even though she had never seen any Smash battle or even taken much interest in them, she did know the fighters invited there were spectacular, legendary, with abilities and might unimaginable. Maybe Robin was right. Maybe Chrom had just been delayed, caught up in the flock of these smashers, or maybe the administrative powers had asked him to stay and join the Rostering right away.

But wouldn’t he have sent couriers by now? Wouldn’t he have? Shouldn’t he have? Couldn’t he have?

Lucina kept asking herself things, and every answer was another question. It seemed to her that the only fact she could arrive at was that her father was late and that she was worrying endlessly about it.

And that she was afraid. Afraid of whatever else fate lay out for her—Lucina was facing all of it alone, and she was sure the nightmares were visions of a future much too imminent, if nothing was done. She wondered if she should have said she was afraid after all; maybe now she wouldn’t be contemplating escape so heavily.

Lucina bit her lip. She had to leave now or go back to waiting at the gate day after day.

She’d leave—but how? It wouldn’t even be two hours past the break of dawn before the whole settlement knew the chief’s daughter snuck away the night before. They’d definitely come looking for her.

“No, no, there has to be a way…” she murmured into her arms, resting her head. She could have gone over her options again, but she had already realized the fact that Robin already knew where she was headed meant that her mere absence would have the other Shepherds hot on her trail. Then again, what could they do? Bring her back all that way? And what if she found her father by then?

Indeed, she said to herself, she would have to leave that night, run away as far as possible, and  _reach the Coliseum before anyone got within even a hundred meters’ radius of her_.

_“_ Escape fear,” she said to herself. “Change fate...”

 

“What do you plan to do?” said some disembodied voice, making Lucina’s head shoot up. She blinked at Robin, who had apparently teleported straight in front of her. “I’m sorry that took longer than expected,” she continued, holding out a brown cloth satchel by the sling. It had a noticeable sag at its bottom from whatever it held within its burlap.

Lucina rubbed her lips with her sleeve, guiltily eyeing the few droplets of saliva still on the table. “Oh. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Then she froze, fully comprehending what Robin had asked her. “What do you mean by ‘plan’?”

“Relax, please. I just need to know if you’ll be absent from the barracks again tonight,” Robin said.

Lucina did not respond immediately; she made some attempt at a frown, choosing to open the top flap of the satchel first—in it was plenty of dried meat and hard biscuits, enough to sustain any trophy’s health for days. She narrowed her azure eyes at Robin. “You mean to give me this…for  _what_  reason, may I ask?”

“It’s nothing much. I just assumed you were going to go back out there again. I don’t have to be the Overseer to think that you shouldn’t be allowed to starve.”

“I see,” said Lucina, closing the bag and holding it in her hands. “I…shall make the most of this. Thank you.” There was a pause then, a quiet stare between them that often came when they conversed alone.

Robin half-turned to the door leading outside. “Come on. I also shouldn’t let you go back out without a tarp.” There had been something she learned about Lucina when they first met back in Ylisse, and that was that Lucina would  _always_  get her way if she willed herself to. That was one prominent thing Chrom and his daughter shared: determination.

It was much too evident now, as the brand of the Exalt in Lucina’s left eye had a curious glint to it. “That…” Robin began. She looked at Lucina again. “And, perhaps, another light sling sack to carry with you. You’ll need it if you want to pack properly.” She arched her eyebrow, as if to ask  _I’m correct in what I’m actually assuming, am I?_

Lucina hardened her gaze. “…You can’t stop me, you know,” she answered indignantly, and she held the satchel out for Robin to receive. “I take back what I said.  _No_  thank you.”

“As you wish,” Robin said. She went to sit back down at the table where Lucina was still seated, and took the bag with calmness. “But I need you to answer me one question.”

“Go ahead. The answer is nothing you’ll like,” Lucina said, haughtily frowning.

“Tonight?” 

"I…" Lucina hadn’t expected to be taken aback by a one-word question. She blinked, searching Robin's face as if trying to find some hidden meaning behind the question. “Are you asking me when I plan to—”

“I am.”

“That would be most definitely tonight…" Lucina replied matter-of-factly. "Since you asked.”

A small smile displayed on the Overseer's face. Reaching over the table, Robin took Lucina’s hands in her own—assuring, confident, and unafraid—and she nodded. “Then I’ll see to it that you pack two tarps, not one. We’ve got quite a ways to travel to the Coliseum.”

 

On the far end of Gaur Plain where the grasslands bordered the mountains stood another settlement. It was one of the few successful specimens of a dozen research colonies, all established millennia ago by emigrants to Smashworld (rewarded heavily, of course, for agreeing to move) in order to study topics ranging from wildlife to the industrial uses of all kinds of magical energy.

Colony 9, in particular, had an impressive weapon development program, as its proximity to element-rich quarries and ample grounds for testing made it ideal for experimenting with hypotheses—such as whether adding aqua ether crystals to X-bombs rendered them highly unstable or increased their launch power. Because of this, Colony 9 was considerably big for a settlement; its primary districts—residential, commercial, and military—reached from one side of a large lake to the other (it would take half an hour to walk between ends), continuing through a mountain tunnel where the mining networks began. Indeed, it was a community evolved to be simple and rustic in design, but it was not a popular place for common visitors because of its typical appearance.

 

The night patrol had just begun. From the colony’s ivory and gold archway gate was a bridge that led out over the water and into Gaur Plain. After crossing it, soldiers with thin armor and stout expressions marched some meters into the grass, scattered into pairs, and began to circle through the area as they would be for the rest of the moonlit night.

The sun was sinking now. On the other end of the horizon, the first shades of dull greens and blues were starting to rouse from their slumber and had begun to join the fading oranges and yellows of the evening sky. Such was the end of a day in Smashworld, as nearly every sunset to sunrise had gone since the creation of the  _Aporie_  some uncounted number of eons ago.

“Well, I suppose sunsets are all the same in the end—”

Just outside the Colony and beyond the range of sight was a boy resting under a tree. By his side lay a divinely crafted blade of light, a faint shimmer enveloping its red handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the major rewrite that tipped this fic over 30k words is done, and we can begin maybe updating soon. Again, thanks to the Nintendo nerds and late-night company. Love you!  
> And especially /you/, dear reader.


	10. VI-A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Me? As long as I've got my sword, I'm always ready. If I've got my cape, I can sleep just about anywhere..."  
> —Ike, Path of Radiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait, there's more!

Without the power of flight, Pit needed to glide, keeping the air beneath his wings at all times. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, since using his wings on his own terms for once felt unsurprisingly great. But now that he needed to act—he wasn’t sure how, but he had to act  _soon_ —his descent was threatening to make him tuck his wings into a nosedive. The thick cloud padding that had saved him was far above him now, casting a shadow over the thick and tall swath of grass several meters below.

Clouds ripped and blew apart under the force of anything from the earth, unless the cloud structure was especially dense or the being disturbing it was especially light. Those born of the air, on the other hand, knew all kinds of clouds to be superior to even the softest-woven bedding—or, in Pit’s case, clouds were a preferred alternative to solid ground.

Not that there could be any breaking the rules, he thought. Lady Palutena’s magic was vast, but it was limited to specialize in magics of the more abstract and divine sort—which meant, as Pit figured, celestials like himself were very lucky to have the goddess’s aid. He also figured non-celestials like Link and Ike were practically doomed from the start; while still high up he spotted their figures, frozen at odd angles in trophy form, and adjusted his course.

Pit’s wings slowed to a flutter and he set foot onto the ground, narrowing his eyes studiously at what lay before him— _definitely them_ , he thought.  _Can’t waste any more time._

Felled trophies were, as common knowledge held, inanimate, dead to the world. So the angel wasn’t terribly shocked to see the two smashers look like fallen stone statues, greyed tones coloring their forms as if decay had come to settle on them.

He walked forward and rested his palm on one of the trophy’s bases, reanimating it.

The process was effortless—briefly removing all forms of thought, Pit unraveled his spirit. The living energy of the world ran through him as if he were an empty vessel. There was a soft breathing within the base, a humming of awakened life reacting to Pit’s presence, and he gave it the slightest  _nudge._ Then he broke contact and leapt away to repeat the entire process.

There was a flash of light, accompanied by an all-too familiar rush of wind, and Pit sighed—half with relief at having revived his companions, and half with dread at the peril surely awaiting them. “Guys?” he said, taking a few steps back. “Hey, guys, up and at ‘em!”

Link looked like he had stirred from a deep sleep, sitting upright with his knees drawn, head held in his hands as he fended off some heavy stupor.

“You okay?” Pit asked, peering over his friend’s withdrawn body.

Link groaned in response. “Pit? Where—where…”

The angel had already begun to dash in Ike’s direction, but he turned his head briefly. “We gotta move. Everything… everyone and everything is in danger!”

Link lifted his head and squinted his eyes. “What do you—” he said, and then the memory came to him like remembering an unpleasant dream. He grimaced. “ _Oh._ ”

“Ike? Ike!” Pit’s shadow loomed over the azure-haired swordsman, who lay supine and appeared dazed, taking longer to make sense of his surroundings. “I need you, too,” Pit insisted, offering a hand. “We have a world to save!”

Ike pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Pit’s help. Rubbing the stiffness from his neck he said, “Maybe, if we could save ourselves to start with. And  _I_  can stand up on my own, no thank you.” Then Ike glanced around and began to feel mildly uncomfortable, as the grass surrounding him was longer and more verdant than he was used to, entirely alien. “...Where are we, anyway?”

“You’re asking me? What happened to ‘I can do things by myself’?” Pit sneered.

“I would know,” Ike said, “If I were made of maps.” He gave a petulant smile. “But I’m not, so I’m going to have to be brave and ask for directions.”

“Jeez, okay.” Then Pit tapped a finger on his chin, mumbling, “Straight down from the Palace, low wind speed today...” Then he piped up suddenly with a flap of his wings: “Gaur Plain! Six degrees forty-eight minutes south of the northernmost border!”

Ike blinked. “You’re not making that up, are you?”

“Smashworld geography is one of his quirks. Part of his job,” Link offered as he joined the group, having apparently recovered from the dizziness. “Although that means he probably could be messing with you.”

“Not a chance. I’m a pure-bred angel!” Then Pit cleared his throat. “Besides, I talked to Lady Palutena. Something kept her from helping us back there until the last moment.” He shuddered. “Things are a lot worse than we thought. The shadow swarm is afoot! Or…whatever they have for feet. But things are definitely worse!”

“It really is a world takeover!” Link exclaimed as if he’d suddenly realized it.

“Yeah?” Pit answered. “And water is wet.”

“No!” Link came forward and held Pit at arm’s length. “I mean that we’re gonna have to step it up. And—and maybe we can actually do some heroics—not that I didn’t like Palutena’s plans, really—but this is the _next big thing_ you’ve been waiting for!”

Pit broke into an open-mouthed grin. “Hey! That’s right! Did I ever tell you I like the way you think?”

“Maybe once or twice, but just in case, tell me again when we don’t have real adventuring going on!”

“Um…” Ike said hesitantly. “So where are you headed, again?”

“Let’s see,” Pit murmured, and he searched, eyes wide and alert, for anything that might grab his attention. He spotted something seemingly far away and pointed to it, gesturing that it was far, far beyond the trees and tall patches of wild grass that decorated the area around them. “The closest landmark is Tephra Cave, which is due east!”

Ike had to squint, and even then he could barely distinguish some bluish rock forms stretching low and wide across the horizon. “Right… And that means…?”

Pit scratched his head. “Uh, well… it’s close to one of the really small research colonies. Maybe they have a spare phone?”

“Great.” Ike turned away, scoffing. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I didn’t get any directions to the nearest enemy hotspot,” Pit said defiantly. “That’s why they call it  _search_ -and-destroy.”

“Hotspot…wait,” said Link, straining to remember anything of use. “Tephra Cave is that mining place, right?”

“Sure, only the biggest ether mine of central Smashworld!” Pit proclaimed. “Whenever I have to do a fly-by there’s always all these transport convoys just chock-full of ether crystals.” He shuddered. “You don’t want to get accidentally knocked into one, though…”

 “Convoys,” Ike repeated, his interest sparked. “The ones that use the fancy magic like  _volans nike_?”

“I guess,” Pit answered.

“So, if we can get one...” said Link.

The angel’s expression brightened. “Oh, then we’ll be able to get places! A lot faster than on land travel, I mean. Just as long as we board them carefully.”

“You better get to it, then,” Ike urged, beginning to move in whatever direction Pit said was east. “Since you’re in a hurry and all.”

“Righty-o,” Pit said, content to agree with him for once. “There has to be one that goes to the Hive Citadel so we can get  _real_  transportation, ‘cause if all three of us—”

 _We_. Ike had thought himself silly at first, but the more that word repeated itself the more Ike realized his initial notion was true:  _we_ was something they were going to have to forego.  _All three of us_ , Pit had said, as if suddenly he and Link had decided they were all going to rise to the occasion—rise out of what some blackish swarm of demonic wisps had made them out to be—and win like it was their job.

Again, the words  _no, no, no_. How many times was he going to get deterred from just getting home?

“About that,” Ike interrupted in a louder voice than normal. “I kind of asked not to go along with Palutena’s plans for a reason. But now that the goddess herself can’t help, I’m just going to get to the wilds by myself. Sorry if you were counting on me for anything.”

“You…you’re not going with us?” Link questioned. He had fallen behind the other two and so both Ike and Pit had to turn around to face him. Before Ike could offer an explanation Link continued, “Come on! You saw that freakish demon—demon _ess_ , really—why would you go alone after that?”

“I… just think I should be back with the others like I was supposed to,” Ike said, not having prepared for explaining himself more definitively. But he saw it now; he would go back and rally his troops at home in the canyons, take charge of the area there.  _Much better to leave all the big business to the heroes._ “I got what I needed to know and now I’m going to leave you alone. That’s all.”

“But didn’t you hear me before? It’s _worse_ ,” Pit said. Then he shook his head. “I just don’t understand how anyone would be okay with just walking away.”

“And  _I_ just don’t understand why you can’t mind your own business,” Ike huffed, suddenly caustic.

“ _Because_ ,” Pit retorted sharply, having decided Ike was definitely on his list of people never to befriend. “When it’s stuff like this it’s everyone’s business. I said I talked to Lady Palutena. She said we have to change our game! But you—you’re just leaving without any weapons, without giving us the same kind of explanations you were asking for  _just a few hours ago_ , and now you’re just pressing the reset button and taking out the disc!”

“Leave it alone, Pit,” Link eased, moving towards the angel. “You don’t need to start ripping your feathers out this early.”

Pit took a step back. “It’s just, I think— _whoa_.” He blinked, seeing his golden laurel crown had been flashing, and his eyes widened. “Lady Palutena. She usually doesn’t do that.”

“Is she calling you?” Link asked.

“Yeah, I…” Pit dashed off some ways ahead. “I don’t know what she needs,” he called, “but I’ll, uh, be right back.”

 

When Pit had begun talking to the sky, Link made his way forward, facing Ike with some kind of frown. “Is this whole thing about Pit, by any change? Sure, he can be kind of shallow and rude, but he’s a real team spirit cheerleader. He’s _my_ friend, at least.”

Ike glanced in Pit’s direction. “I’m sure he is,” he said skeptically. “But this is just for me.”

Link’s expression turned from one of apology to disappointment. “Oh. You’re a one-man-band now?” he asked bitterly.

“No, I’m saying it’s just for me,” Ike restated, ignoring the sarcasm. Link arched an eyebrow, wordlessly prompting the other to continue. “Look, even though I said some things turned out for the better, I still have somewhere to be.”

“You’re really homesick? I mean, Palutena said she’d…”

There was a pensiveness that weighed down Ike’s expression. “She’s not here. I’m not there. I—” he paused, deliberating for a few moments. “I promised my family I’d get to them as soon as possible. I’ve been trying to get there since that rock giant appeared.” He narrowed his gaze. “You were all stubborn worrying about something earlier, too, about meeting up with the primes. Don’t you see where I’m coming from?”

That sure explained a lot of his behavior up until now, Link thought. “Except I wasn’t exactly itching to meet up with them, you know?” he answered, shrugging. “But I’m surprised you remember.”

“Yeah, well, pretty much everyone heard it.”

Feeling less of a need to be guarded, Link smiled. “Heh. Guess you expected me to be the silent type.”

“I’m not sure what I expected from any of this,” Ike said, turning back to see Pit still looking to the air. “But I do know I expect to get at least something right done today.”

“If you say so, I guess.”

Link knew better than to pick fights now, but there was something tugging at him. So many somethings, actually, that he found himself half-occupied with mentally jumping all over the place trying to make sense of it all. So far he was aware they pointed to the idea that maybe, _just maybe_ , he and Pit could only go so far.

The memory of losing control of his Courage earlier came to him, along with echoes of the pain it caused. _Imagine if I could…_

But Link shook his head. There was no changing reality. Besides, doing so was getting in the way of someone else’s motivations—something he would never allow to happen to him as long as he drew breath.

So he said nothing further, idling himself, waiting for someone else to speak.

 

Pit called a minute later for the other two to come join him, insisting it was “super important.” When the three of them were reunited, the angel held out two small specks of green light, floating in the space above his open palm. “Ta da! The Star Festival came early.”

“This… isn’t another trick, is it?” Ike asked. Pit denied him an answer, giving him a stubborn look instead, so Ike tentatively reached out.

One of the lights reacted, immediately zipping towards his hand. When it made contact it exploded soundlessly, the resulting dust swirling in tighter and tighter circles around Ike’s hand before disappearing from sight. Ike suddenly had the awareness of a new dimension to him, like he could put his hand beyond a veil in front of him and he’d retrieve something tangible out of nothing. “Are these…?” he murmured.

“Presents from Lady Palutena. Well, more like some badly needed help. She said she’s gotten possession of the Archives key and sent me an Indexed inventory for you guys. They’re just copies of the standard ones for smash matches, but it’s a lot better than being out in the open!” He offered his hand in the other direction. “Yours too, Link!”

“Wow,” Link said as he watched the dust dissolve into his hand. “I was starting to think I might need to use a tree branch as a sword. Thank Palutena for me?”

“She said ‘you’re welcome’ in advance.” Pit gave a mellow chuckle.

“I should say thanks, too,” Ike said. “I’ll be sure to make the most of this for now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Pit rolled his eyes, his mood soured at remembering a few minutes ago. “You’re going to ditch as soon as you can and just leave us out here to fend for ourselves.”

Ike tensed. “I already said what I said, and it wasn’t that.”

Pit puffed his cheeks. “It was  _basically_  that—” and suddenly Link pushed Pit a little to one side to get his attention. He whipped his head to face the Hylian. “What?”

“Listen, Pit," Link said, somewhat stern, "whether you want him to join the party because you really believe in it or just because you’re jaded from earlier, we’re still here where we landed. Can’t we just hold off on the yelling for a little bit? It’s starting to hurt listening to all of it.”

Pit made some sort of annoyed growl. “It’s fine. I don’t really care about what he’s going to do anyway.”

Ike looked at the position of the sun—evening would be soon, and he didn’t really want to think about what might happen during the dark hours of the night. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll give. For now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pit asked him suspiciously.

“It means we’ll head to this…mining place or whatever, and I’ll do all the world saving you want until then.” Ike’s hand glowed, and the light that emerged grew in shape until it became his black-hilted broadsword, Ragnell. He tested his arm, allowing his muscles the short time they needed to adjust to the sword’s weight. Then he hefted it gently over his shoulder, the golden metal glinting dully but confidently in the sun. “But after that, I’m going on my own. Deal?”

Pit crossed his arms. “So am I the only one who thinks there’s no  _i_ in  _team_?”

“No,” Link said. “But there’s an  _i_  in  _Pit_ , and soon you’re going to be the only one here if you get left behind.”

“You do know the same thing can be said for any of us, right?” the angel shot back.

Link grinned at him, then turned to search for the thin lines of Tephra Cave far beyond him. “Same difference. We’ll worry about the small stuff later.”

It seemed to Pit that this whole conundrum was all about the small stuff. But he fully acknowledged now that standing here was just wasting time, and he was sure he really didn’t care about what that  _jerk_ did anymore, so with a flap of his wings he shrugged and said, “It’s a deal.”

Gaur Plain breathed before the three smashers in the afternoon light. Ike found the bluish rock forms first, and took the opportunity to take the first few steps of their journey, the tips of grass swirling around his knees as he moved. “Then I don’t know about you two, but I’m on my way.”

Pit glanced behind, then at Link, and then followed Ike, muttering, “Yeah. On our way straight to the Underworld.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ike, here... is not the brash, slightly old-fashioned, no-nonsense wild child of constant backsass and scowling (with good intentions, admittedly) that made him a favorite to many. Instead we have someone a little more... reserved.  
> Wonder what happened...besides my attempts at recreation :V


	11. VI-B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And yet I confess even I do not know what sort of being, or what kind of magical will, would have even conceived to create a Subspace, much less its supposedly all-powerful ruler..."  
> —G.B., "After the Fall of Tabuu"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I'll come back to edit these chapters once I accumulate another heapful (which would mean another mass-sweep rewrite)... but, hey, thanks for reading and sending support!  
> Now that I have the basic world planned, I've already come up with a bunch of spinoffs that, technically, could be published before this finishes—since most of them take place before the events of this story... Oooh, the possibilities are good.

The Halberd was now resting on the outskirts of Palutena’s Temple, nestled in the comforts of the reddening sky. There were bruised and battered spots on the ship’s hull, hissing where black smoke leaked through cracks, the metal plating having been torn off in multiple places. Some of the jets under its wings had deep dents near the exhausts, and others had exploded outright. The entire top deck was charred, branding the ship a remnant of a firefight barely won.

Several species of red Pikmin had been spawned under the watch of Captain Olimar and the explorer Alph, who both had been on the train that morning; the small creatures now milled about the exterior of the ship, tasked with locating and ripping off broken parts to be replaced. King Dedede was nearby the two space captains, sending multiple teams of Waddle Dees to begin the mending process under the watch of the Halberd’s maintenance crew.

The ship was safe now, though it would not be mobile for the night.

When he realized the Ancients would soon turn the earth towards the moon, Meta Knight alighted near Dedede, Olimar and Alph. Some relief had settled upon him, though his movements were still tense.

"Sir?" said Alph.

"If we begin work early tomorrow, the ship can last the trip back to the Hive Citadel for repairs... assuming it gets there un-ambushed. But we have you to thank for hastening the repair process." Meta Knight pointed to Dedede. "Even  _you_."

Dedede grumbled. “This is the last time I do something like this, y’hear?”

“Hopefully,” Meta Knight replied. “Now, listen closely.” He motioned for the other three to move closer to him. Once they had circled him, he spoke: “I have some grave news for you, as the goddess told me earlier…”

 

It was evening when the smashers still onboard the Halberd were told that their stronghold, their anchorage, the single foundation responsible for governing and maintaining all the lands of Smashworld, was not only ruined, but out of reach, fallen to an unknown force with a single breath.

Palutena closed her eyes slowly. “...And we must not lose.”

A ripple of silence had befallen the interior of the ship, much like the quiet that had settled upon the world outside. But there was a hushed energy beginning to stir, and Palutena suddenly became aware of countless pairs of eyes glaring at her.

“Our pride and joy…” Peach lamented softly. At her side, Mario reacted instantly to her sadness; she shook her head when he tried to comfort her. “I’m fine. I just can’t believe something like this would have happened!”

“Why now?” Lucario asked, using some effort to project his voice. “Why now, when it happened so much earlier? This is not some simple royal’s castle. This is our very _core_!”

“Yeah,” said Little Mac. “We could’ve done something!”

“No, you couldn’t have,” the goddess replied simply. “Where were all of you? Far from the Coliseum, and even more so for those on that train.”

Zelda stepped forward. “So we were not meant to know because we weren’t there. Is that your logic?”

“No, of course not,” Palutena said, unmoving. “But without any options, all you would have is needless worry.”

“And why is that?” Lucario asked her.

“When Pit and I discovered the Coliseum it had already been shielded with some force—an inconceivably high concentration of the shadows, much more than at the Palace.” She saw Lucario return to quiet observation, and continued, “Besides, you all fought with me today.”

There was a wave of susurration among the crowd, loath to recall the battle earlier.

“So… what now, after those things?” Falco said, impatient with all the standing and listening. “Are we gonna kick the bucket?”

Fox growled. “How can you say that, Falco? This is our world we’re talking about!”

“She said it herself,” Lucario mused. “Our adversaries might very well outdo us.”

Falco frowned. “Hold on, I’m not saying we’re not gonna—”

“I should hope that the destruction of the world is not immediate, then,” Zelda murmured.

“Would you—”

“The end of the world?” Mega Man exclaimed. “That can’t happen!”

Rosalina laid a hand on her chest, stricken with thought. “But with the Coliseum under control and the prime smashers gone…”

Samus gasped. “Crud. Who knows what they can do with all that power?”

Captain Falcon lowered his head. “Everything.”

And the crowd exploded into talk—talk of doom; of possible reroutes around peril, of the inevitability of that same peril; of, “ _what about fighting back_?”; of, “ _there’s no fighting back if even our most powerful lost!_ ”; of a distress sparked by the connection of events and the implications of a far, far more formidable enemy than previously thought.

 

Palutena watched them with careful eyes, and she sighed. She lifted her staff and called for silence through a simple sound spell—it emitted a short high-amplitude wave that made the entire crowd draw back in surprise.

“ _And I repeat,_ ” she declared. “We must not lose.” She spoke slower, deliberately imbuing her words with conviction, directly addressing the hearts of all who watched her. “I chose to tell you  _now_ , after everything you’ve seen and witnessed, because you know the full burden of what lies ahead.” She raised her arm, offering a hand for the entire crowd to take. “But you must rise where your leaders have fallen.”

Her gaze was steady. “I, Palutena, goddess of light, am not speaking to you as your leader. I’m calling you to action. And I need you.  _Smashworld_  needs you.”

Quietness followed.

“Is there any dissent?” Palutena asked, waiting.

Waiting for the adrenaline to transform the smashers’ furrowed brows, sweat-dotted foreheads, their preoccupied stares at the ground and their gingerly closed lips. They had the whole uncertainty of the future ahead of them now. She knew their still-wavering nervousness, and she waited, arm still outstretched, while the silence of decision hung low over their heads.

Falco crossed his winged arms, huffing. “Please. No way. We’re fighting.”

Palutena saw him out of the corner of her eye. “Then we will fight?”

Fox’s expression brightened at him. “That sounds like the Falco I know.” Then he said, making sure even those furthest from him could hear, “We’re gonna fight!”

Mac brandished his boxer gloves. “We ain’t gonna stop!”

“I am able to sense the vigor growing,” the Trainer said to herself, and then joined the cry: “The battle will not be lost.”

Peach smiled, hoping Zelda shared her intent. “Shall we?” she asked.

Zelda, seeing the determination of the others, turned to the stage, and called, “Hear, hear!”

And Charizard roared. Pikachu brimmed with electricity. Greninja and Lucario nodded at each other with silent agreement. Luma jumped from Rosalina’s arms, shouting with the growing raucousness of the crowd around them.

_No_ _,_ every smasher was declaring,  _there is no dissent_.  They would not lose. A new and unbreakable spirit had emerged. All of a sudden that single idea—we will fight—had become one voice of many. The drive to fight was their soul! To fight  _for_  was their pride! To think they had been overcome with apprehension!

The goddess halted the crowd again, only needing to raise the hand she had lifted to them. “All of you… you have my gratitude,” she told them.  “Rest now. I ask you to form alliances and spread. There is strength in numbers. And we’ll rise at dawn.” Light swirled within the sphere of her staff and began to flow out, rolling over her form and enveloping her body as she prepared to teleport. “Now, I bid you good night.”

Then she shimmered from view, her presence leaving the room entirely.

Meta Knight entered the hall shortly after. He flew to the stage after calling for attention. “The goddess told me you are to rest.” He lowered his head. “My apologies. We don’t usually cater to smashers like you lot, so all we have are the henchmen’s quarters. The bedding may be a little insufficient, but it shouldn’t be difficult to make yourselves comfortable there.”

“Oh, dear, the henchmen,” Peach gasped. “Will they be all right?”

“They will be working on repairs, since they are nocturnal by nature. Your concerns should be settled.” Meta Knight leapt off the stage and smoothly curved his descent, landing at the hall’s exit, opening the door. “This way.”

Mario hurried to where the masked ball was. He seemed eager to get the smashers going. “You heard him! Heal up for tomorrow!”

Luigi, having stayed to the back of the crowd, frowned at his brother. “Oh, bro, I don’t know if I can even sleep after all that…”

Captain Falcon began to walk out of the room, patting Mario on the head as he passed. “I know for sure I won’t be waiting here any longer,” he said. “To deny good advice is just plain wrong.”

Some of the others nearby watched him leave. The Trainer nodded. “It is recommended to replenish as much as possible.”

“Then let’s go,” Samus agreed. “I can use a few hours of sleep.”

The smashers broke off in groups of friends, old and new alike, exiting the hall to where Meta Knight stood, continually directing the way to their temporary quarters. Eyes were beginning to droop now, as well as the once-upright shoulders and fighting postures that had characterized them so many times today.

There were talks of powers, of plans, of tomorrow—but the one topic that everyone had come to was the eagerness to sleep. Sleep was never a biological necessity for trophies, but it was a much-welcomed luxury. It relaxed the body, allowed its levels of energy to come to equilibrium with that of the environment—consequently, sleep revitalized the trophy much more efficiently and fully than the quicker alternative of a bite or two of food.

And so the smashers hurried off to relax themselves, to enter a dreaming state and to awaken, vitality sure to surge through them with the rise of the sun.

 

Marth was last to leave the conference hall. “I—I should probably see if I can help balance everyone’s teams,” he muttered to himself. “Lots of things to do.”

Meta Knight extended a cape’s wing. The prince came within a hair’s breadth of it before he froze, remembering where he was and instinctively drawing back to give himself breathing room.

Once Marth had recovered his calm, Meta Knight spoke: “I know that look.”

“What look?”

“You might feel motivated to take responsibility from here, but I assure you, you’ve done well enough. Surprising by even my standards.”

Marth pushed the cape away, bitterly frowning. “And you’re going out of your way to tell me this.”

“You were troubled.”

“Thank you, really,” the prince said, walking down the hall. “I’ll look after myself.”

Meta Knight approached the door switch and laid his hand on it. A few moments later the conference hall was closed with a giant plate of metal, and the lights lining the corridors began to dim. Soon, only the core power systems would be running, since energy was going to be very scarce for a couple of days.

Meta Knight glided along the ground in order to take the leading role. “You’ve been quiet since the Palace scuffle,” he said without looking back. “That’s all I happened to notice.”

“Me?” Marth blinked. “That’s… right.  _I_  hadn’t even noticed.”

“Here's a helpful tip. Not a good idea to lie when you've got a mood."

“Oh, a mood. That's helpful.”

“There, see?” Meta Knight said, half-amused. “Acceptance, maybe gratitude. Something you lack. Listen to yourself, if nothing else.”

“I—” Marth began to protest, but he cleared his throat instead. “I  _suppose_  I might lack something…in that department.”

“I hope honesty isn’t another of those somethings.”

“Yes, thank you for the—the  _help_.”

Meta Knight scoffed lightly. “I see nothing but flaws in everyone, if it helps your poor feelings. You just seem to insist on your self-made elegance, instead of the natural kind that people of your stature seem to have. That also makes it a lot more self-affected.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” he asked as if to challenge.

“That’s for you to decide,” Meta Knight replied.

The prince did not reply after, so the two of them fell silent even after they entered the quarters, where the smashers were adjusting themselves to the rows of small beds and purple blanketing.

 

Marth sat down as soon as he noticed he was among the beddings. He saw, but hadn’t heard, Meta Knight leave him with a “Goodnight,” disappearing to somewhere in the ship only the Ancients knew of.

He ignored everything else. There was much to think about, after all.

Like the clarity of the goddess’s voice; like the way her eyes were soft, but her chin was lifted just so, just enough to snag that air of authority; just enough to present her call to arms, acknowledging the bleakness of their situation, but able to bring the smashers to their feet, inviting them to stand with her to challenge fate. And they listened. They would fight.

Palutena. At the Palace she’d fought with them, told them she was not to be their commander, but their ally. She said she was fighting because she wanted to save her home. But they flocked to her anyway, asking her for next orders as if it were habit—and she would always straighten herself, search the horizon, and fulfill their questions.

That might have been it—the something he lacked. Magnetism. Something  _she_  had. Something that motivated others to action. Something that wasn’t forced upon others. Others were drawn to her.

Or perhaps he hadn’t put much thought to the gap in experience between them. What less was there to expect of a goddess? Was he just envious of her? Then what was ailing him? What questions would he need to answer?

Marth looked up and saw the smashers still strolling about, some sitting, and some standing at bedsides. The Halberd’s interior had grown almost dark by now; low-power ether lamps, stretching like skylights across the ceiling, cast a glow that washed the floor in odd mixes—red where blue wanted to reach, dapples of yellow washes among the tangles of green. It would be at least several minutes before all the shallow talk died down.

No, Marth thought. The question was  _how_ , and he would learn nothing by idle thought.

He stood, turned, and walked towards the centermost aisle. He called to the smashers, wary of volume; some of them still jumped, but he had all their attention. “Forgive me for the suddenness,” he told them, “but I’d been speaking with the goddess and I thought to tell this now. As you all know, she’s said we must form alliances…”

 

Around Palutena’s Temple, the sky had yet to be tainted with ash.

Palutena herself was glad for it, since the Palace in the Sky had been devoid of life for some hours now; parts of buildings and statues, standing immaculate hours ago, were broken off, edges smouldered into black lumps. The ground was charred gray and the air still smelled of burning asphalt even now.

Whether the enemy wanted to burn or eat through the Palace’s structure was unknown, but it had accomplished most of both.

When the Halberd had come blazing through the clouds of shadow, smashers on the top deck poised for battle, the Palace had already been ransacked.

But it hadn’t been stolen from reign yet; the magical defenses, apocrypha magic woven by the Aether and fortified by Palutena herself, still stood.

The shadows were still clawing away at the barriers when the trophies arrived, and they suffered horribly under a smasher’s strike. So Palutena had sent forth whomever was willing, prioritizing the campaign to drive The Swarm away from the Palace—meanwhile, she stood at the steps to the great building and used her clairvoyance to assess what could still be protected. The Northern Fountain of Dreams was still untouched. So too was the “Palace Sun”—the celestials’ aptly chosen nickname for the etheric star that emanated energy across the higher regions of the sky, often Palutena’s fuel for her farther-reaching magic. She probed the streams of heavenly power that snaked their own paths through the Palace, and found them untainted.

She broke off her vision then, nearly collapsing with relief at all the integrity despite the ruin around her. She’d made sure Pit was safe, and now her home could be made safe, too.

So she turned and rejoined her new comrades in their only remaining task: dispelling the shadows that plagued them.

The battle had ended long before the first hint of red in the sky. There hadn’t been any being present to guide the enemy, which meant the smashers were only battling a large mass of the things. The wisps buzzed, they snarled, they hooked together with their claws to become bigger, more menacing. They leapt onto the Halberd and began beating at it, tried to crawl inside, drove their wiry bodies through the wings to prevent swift escape. They thrashed their heads and pounded the ground, roaring with victory as pillars and stone statues alike fell at their feet, as smashers watched the scene crumble, wondering if this was to signal the end of peace.

The wisps were relentless, admittedly, but the smashers treated them as enemies to be defeated just the same, which was a challenge many welcomed with an energizing nostalgia. Once the shadowy wisps had been extinguished—and, under her watch, confirmed thrice to be nowhere on the island—Palutena simply declared their fight was won.

 

Night time had fallen some time ago when she teleported back to the Palace.

She took a step, then closed her eyes, using her long-distance sight to peer at the smashers far below. Her senses picked up a wide range of energies even though they were sound asleep, leading her to think they’d been visited with dreams of darkness and sunshine alike.

She saw that over the cold metal hull of the Halberd, Meta Knight was overlooking his own henchmen scuttling about, buckets of magically liquidated metal in their grasps. Beyond them, Palutena found no trace of the shadows, so she opened her eyes to begin surveying the Palace’s damage in full. She shuddered, living in the memory of a once-beautiful place brought to ruin.

She tapped the ground with her staff and at once the sky above her was alight—a sphere of magic enveloping the Palace had uncovered itself, stubbornly bright even under the shine of the moon. It was a barrier she’d erected at the end of the battle, a last-ditch effort she hoped was enough to prevent even large-scale invasions. It was, after all, a call upon the oldest magic she could remember, only destructible by its own kind.

Around her, the cracked stones were already beginning to seal themselves, the burnt wreckage bubbling with new growth. The Elder Aether had created the Palace with the intent of preservation; as long as the ruler lived to rule the domain it would never fall.

But the Elders had left out the apocrypha magic in their self-regeneration spells, and Palutena had discovered the defenses left threadbare by the attack, its outer layers dissolved by some mad conjurer’s idea of magical acid.

“It’s a good thing I started adding this to my spring cleaning list a few years ago,” she said to herself. “Now, what to do…”

She waved her staff, focusing her sight into it, using it as a medium to peer into the apocrypha. She could see the magic now—frayed whispers of the universe were bonded together by pure Will alone.

All Palutena had to do was navigate the woven magic and locate a means of infusing new and strengthened energy. But the task was like making sense of a broken vase, seeing all the connections between the thousand or so fragments of shattered glass. The imprints on the spell were half-faded, and even if she could read them properly, the mundane nature of archaic magic was something she hadn’t bothered with—not often, at least, in all her years of existence.

And yet— _there!—_ the apocrypha was already starting to come together under Palutena’s watch. The Ancients guided the turn of the earth and the moon watched over her diligently. She was alone, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company as she worked.

But her thoughts swirled. They surrounded her like hummingbirds. Darting, buzzing, wings beating with the force of a tempest.

And suddenly, with terrible shock, she realized they all told her the same thing: _this, too had been a farce_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just seemed too good to be true.
> 
> Next chapter: "Air smell good in morning! It Nopon tradition to wake up to bright and beautiful sun!"


	12. Intermission ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A giant tree inhabited by the Nopon. It is a haven of peace, far from the chaos of the world."  
> —Frontier Village, Xenoblade Chronicles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small tiny update (with another small one coming sometime) that spares some otherwise lengthy description that would go into chapter 7. This next intermission is less essay-ish and actually builds on story, although it's a bit infodumpy!  
> (I know I said it'd be official history...so I included a few sorta-important and tidbits of history that are just names for now.)
> 
> If you're drawing a Smashworld map in your mind, "The Jungle" area in SSE is the approximate area of places like Kongo Jungle and the huge tree that houses Frontier Village (which, in Xenoblade, is in a jungle despite the name "forest").

The Nopon yawned, rubbed at her eyes with a head-wing, and shook last night’s sleep from her coral-pink fur, ready to greet the soon-to-be morning. Taking a few short hops forward, she made her way down the small ramp, then threw her stubby legs up to plop down. She would be sitting for a long while.

Looking over the edge she could see the wooden bridges stretching across the uneven wooden scaffolding that, combined, created a makeshift walkway that spiraled up the perimeter of the Great Tree’s interior. Pollen orbs, glowing various colors, hung like lantern lights in every kind of place—along the railings of the bridges; riveted to the wall like sconces; swinging freely from small branch ingrowths with bunches of dark green leaves hanging from the bark.

The complex with its planked platforms and sagging walkways stringed from end to end like webs—webs dotted with cute little glowing lights, Oka thought.

 

The War of Centuries, a staple memory of historical textbooks, had caused a massive array of trophies to flee to the safety of Smashworld—a land intact and protected from ruin by the barrier of twilight and stars known to all as the _Aporie_. The Nopon race were among the first to flee.

Their small tribe of survivors traveled through Smashworld’s jungles to find the Great Tree, somehow ensconced within the area’s eternally turgid summer despite being "so giant it could crush a hundred billion thousand Nopon!" The tree, with its big tufts of leaves circling it like clouds around a mountain, and its weathered bark streaked white and green by time, made even dragons seem like insects—and so the Nopon with their tiny bodies hewed themselves a settlement out of the tree, using ether magic to hollow out the interior, and christened their new home “Frontier Village.”

 

Below Oka, the light of the Sacred Altar burned tepidly, the pool below it still enough to perfectly mirror the turquoise ether flames. Stories high above her shone the waters of Apex Lake, held atop the canopy by the Great Tree’s natural magic.

 

Though most of the Nopon had stayed behind to create and flourish within Frontier Village, many had also left to explore the rest of Smashworld.

Unassuming and fuzzy as the little creatures were, they cherished the daring and enthusiasm of their ancestors from the Lands Beyond—so the Nopon named themselves not only survivors, but also trailblazers, researchers and explorers of the new world. The Nopon spread themselves as far as the _Aporie_ stretched, and between them formed a loose network of correspondence—friends and messengers and merchants chatted with one another, spread news of the rise of kingdoms, shared gossip about the legendary feats of heroes before their time, accumulated research on the feeding patterns of hundreds of monsters.

All their work, no matter what the field, had a single quality in common: curiosity.

When the newly born committee visited Frontier Village for the first time, the Nopon did not hesitate to throw the prime smashers a three day long celebration of citrus fruits and local alcoholic drink—a feast for the new and happily-called _Trophypon friendship_.

“Tell me, yes, tell me,” Prime Mario spoke to Chief Dunga, chuckling at the taste of the Bitter Kiwi drink in his cup. “Do you still make contact with the inhabitants outside the border?”

Chief Dunga, a periwinkle-furred Nopon, shook in his azure clothes ornamented with various flower patterns. He was laughing, his small lavender beard bouncing along with him. “Poor little Nopon and others from big war! I do not know what happen to them. They would have been my great great great great great great grampons! Smashpons only worried about Smashworld now, as we have been for ages.” He tilted his head. “Why small moustache primy ask?”

Prime Mario glanced down at the most recent map of Smashworld readily drawn by a handful of Nopon cartographers, illuminated by the green glow of the pollen orbs under the ceiling of Prophecy Hut. He thought of how far from the ground he was in this house, simply designed with tree cuttings and leafage, made to reign at the topmost level of Frontier Village.

“It’s-a _really_ just something we want to know,” he answered. “We haven’t done much to accommodate the new immigrants to Smashworld. Master Hand communicates to us that he just lets trophies through without them knowing… we think we should try to develop a better integration program, what with the disorienting Laws of Sustenance and all.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Dunga assured. “We understand. It biiiiiiiig job! Master Hand watch over gateway to Smashworld, and native Smash trophies help everyone safe,” Dunga cried. “It big job indeed!”

“Yes, indeed!” Prime Mario adjusted his hat. “I guess I should be asking if the Nopon have-a completely dedicated themselves to this new life here?”

Dunga flapped his head-wings once. “Well! I should say! Definitely! Yes, most absolutely. Nopon can do anything when we put mind to it! We have doctors and merchants and scientists of all kinds! Nopon just like other Smash trophies. We all make Smashworld better, yes?”

“ _Hwai_ , yes—that _is_ Ancient Nopon language, I believe?” Prime Mario said, and then he took another sip from his glass. “So, then, howd’you say the other recent immigrants will take to this, ah, this new research colonization program some of us have been thinking about?”

“As far as I am concerned, new and improved life is much better than old and scary life. Tell me more.”

 

Though the sun had yet to appear, some Nopon had already begun to raise the rickety awnings over their shopping stalls, refilling their lamps with liquidated ether.

Oka was one of the early risers that went out simply for sightseeing. Behind her she could feel the warm luridity of the lamplights leaking from her windows, openings carved by herself and her family from the cluster of hollowed-out and heavily refurnished logs that made their house. She could hear the slow turning of the lavender petal fans from her roof, powered by the blood flow of ether throughout the tree’s still-living wood. And then, if she turned right, she could see the time mushroom minding its own business with its dull, white-speckled cap.

Its dusty yellow spores changed the aroma of the air at the same hours each day, and sunrise always smelled like spicy fruits.

It was a scent that always brought Riki to Oka’s mind—he would always gush about how hungry it made him, while holding Oka close, snuggling in the cuddly way Nopon loved to do. The turn of the earth was not something they watched, not something they heard, but something they smelled, something they felt with the quiet beating of hearts and the heart of the living ether surrounding them.

Not that she would be alone much longer—the little ones were expectant to have their father return home with gifts from all over Smashworld, always thoughtfully picked whenever Riki was away on a trip. But for now, a new morning in Frontier Village was hers to soak in, hers to gaze over, as the pollen orbs hovered all over the Great Tree like fireflies, their lights dancing across the wooden planks without restraint.

The air begun to smell of paprika and apples. “Ohh,” Oka sighed to herself. “When will Riki start bringing home monies instead of trinkets?”

            

From Apex Lake there could be summoned a single vessel of light that rocketed straight up through the sky where the earth was but a distant memory but space was somewhere far up above. Hidden among the clouds was a great skein of thorny vines, floating in the air of its own magic.

The vines, thick and toughened by petrification, were unreachable, impenetrable. They were also unpredictable, wildly veering this way and that while only vaguely holding the shape of a sphere. Sometimes there would be small bunches of flowers in warm hues adorning their edges; other times there would be small one-eyed creatures—leaves fashioned after insects—skittering over the dark, twisted hide.

One took Apex Lake’s light stream to safely pass through the glaring mess of vines, finding themselves in a microcosm of a haven for flora. One would then follow a stream condensed through the clouds, and hop over a few stray rocks and then snake through woods of tall, purplish trees and bright pink blooms raining petals through the air.

Without luck or a knowledgable guide it was an effortless task to get lost. Perhaps, though the notion had never been confirmed, the world within was made to be as twisted as its outer shield was. But within, hidden away from the sights of common eyes, there was a cherry blossomed grotto, overgrown with roots, congested with mosses and low-reaching trees, foliage dazzlingly green and bright, decorated with flurries of pink and white buds.

Traveling to the end of the grotto over short-cut and slightly muddy grass was a palace painted crimson and gold, decorated with the finest of pollen orbs and cultivated with the utmost attention to detail; groomed just so, that the leaves never reached past the doorway and the roots leading inside always curled away from each other. This palace woven of nature had a floor of grainy wood, with ether-infused trees that grew into the walls, curving to make windows, branching into perches for small birds and hollowing out in their trunks to store small trinkets.

The canopy atop it all was a large dome, and underneath it was an ether light, much like a skylight, burning so impassionedly that the thought of darkness existing anywhere within this room was nonexistent. It tinted the already-red room in colors of a bright autumn, making the mild breath of spring outside in the grotto seem like it belonged to some other world.

But it was not, because it was home to she who loved the changing of the seasons most—she who loved nature dearly—home to Viridi, goddess of nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh boy it'll get polished another day.  
> Instead of leading to a city of bird people we get a mini-planet of a bratty nature goddess. So this is where she hangs out!  
> Next time: Viridi paints her nails, and the official character listing will get changed.


	13. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In attending one of the so-called 'official councils of the gods,' I was surprised to find the realms of divine control often overlapped in all these places. As a result, meetings between powerful celestials almost always led to angry quarrels and overturned temples... I now see the reason why so many people worship some pokémon as real gods."  
> —Z., "Notes on the Denizens of Heaven"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter number 13 gets uploaded on April 13. Wow!  
> School's still bringing a lot of work, but I did manage to get some stuff done this break. As you'll notice, I did some changing to a lot of the chapters and also added a changelog to the end of the work, since I'm very aware this thing goes under a lot of revision anyway (ha)  
> Anyway, thank you for your support so far!  
> (P.S., to those of you who've been browsing the smash fanfics of this site, I did read Hot Topic Krew.)

Where the roots of Nature’s palace had grown much too thick for sunlight to reach the ground, there was a throne delicately crafted for a queen. It had been raised from the woody skein itself, and it was decorated with fractals of veins curling out, wild and untamed in its reign.

Here Viridi sat, tapping her foot and impassionedly frowning.

She had ascended to goddesshood when, as the Elder Aether had once said in Awyleor, “ _Nature, magically charged or not, has eked out its own life as a moving force and must be assigned its own Guardian.”_   But her eons of divinity would forever be dwarfed by the other forces that had reigned for far longer—light and darkness, the sea and the sky, the sun and the moon.

The venerability of other celestials, in her own words,  _just_  had  _to be so much bigger_. She was young. Though she was known to command with an iron fist—rarely appearing outside her palace without her handcrafted breastplate and pauldron armor—she still had the look of a small girl, blonde-haired and nowhere close to maturity.

She looked childish even now as she groaned loudly. “Another ether pulse! This is just insane!” As if she’d been taken by some tantrum, she slammed her fists onto the throne’s armrests. “What in Gaia’s name is happening to the earth!?” The rest of the throne room moved with her, trunks and thick stems bashing against the woody walls of the palace.

A low rumble echoed through the walls of her domain, making Viridi wince. She took it as a sign that her energy would be better used elsewhere.

The sun tapered down in small rays through the skylight of her palace’s dome, washing itself over an insignia hewn into the middle of the floor—a gold-rimmed circle circumscribed with a maroon diamond. Viridi narrowed her eyes for a moment at it. She focused her magic; then, where the light gathered most intensely, a small tree sprouted where there hadn’t been before.

A long sight divination, she thought, would do better in answering her questions. Viridi allowed the roots of her throne to recede until the ground was near enough for her to leap off and move hastily towards the tree. She was fully bathed in the light now, and she felt its light moving through her, around her, filling her veins with energy that made her feel great and powerful.

The tree sat, quiet and small, in front of her. She held her hands over it, gathering some of the sunlight’s magic and calling the sprout to her with a single  _pull_  of will. The trunk shot up to meet her, branches stretching as if roused from a long sleep, now brimming with golden foliage. Then the tree continued to flourish, ravenous for sunlight and thick in its growth as the top of its leaves were nearing the ceiling now.

Viridi stopped channeling her magic, and the tree was still. A single sprig of leaves grew a few paces from her face, and she reached out to touch their broad and tender tips. Her eyes flashed yellow and her consciousness left her at once, etheric energy moving from her body into the veins of the leaf. The tree was filled with her own essence now, unlike the sunlight magic of earlier. She was at one with Nature now, and she shuttled herself down to the tree's roots, using it as a vessel to travel through the earth. In a single breath she sent herself serpentining through the empty sky. She was at the mercy of the wind while traveling through open air in this state, but she felt no resistance today, and found herself in the ground a few moments later.

Now she had become the soul of the earth, and she saw everything the land was. If she focused on nothing the world was one great blur of warm colors—it was close and wide, everywhere at once without moving one inch. And if she glanced, or even blinked, she saw snapshots: the land grew and she was there. She knew the abundance of plant life, what sort of soil it grew in, what the climate and the weather did to it. The ether pulse she’d felt earlier called her to cross through grasses, swing atop jungle trees—in a few seconds she’d been brought to the other side of the continent.

All the while she was taking glances, searching for some clue that would connect to the one mystery she was after now.  _Healthy. Healthy. Some drought_ , Viridi said to herself as she paused in her travel again and again.  _Nothing’s looking out of place here—_

For disjointed fractions of seconds, she became the plant life, perceiving the area as the flora did: through the scent of the air, the depth and spread of the ground, the small cracks and crevices traversed by roots and vines.

Now she’d crossed over into the part of Mushroom Kingdom where there grew a field of flowers.  The distress call came louder and louder, and Viridi hadn't any idea of what to expect. Was there a fire? A fierce battle? Some dumb accident?

She'd steeled herself for the reveal—in that, she was confident—but the moment she grazed over the first withered blade of grass, she saw everything and felt the pang of nausea hit her like a bullet.

She regained control of her body some moments later and, lowering her hand, shook her head, sickened and dizzy. “Ugh. One moment I’m getting distress signals from every part of Smashworld… and  _hours later_  Palutena sends me some lousy, half-awake centurion with a ten sentence letter. TEN!" Her face slowly grew despondent. “And now… this.”

She used her magic to ungrow the gold-leafed tree as quickly as she'd raised it—the leaves were sucked back into their shoots and the branches retreated into themselves by the force of some wind blowing away the effects of time. When only the trunk remained, Viridi gently eased it into a shrunken form, a stump, before compressing it into a seed to use some other time. 

Once more, the room was filled with space. Viridi stared at the floor with a newfound intensity, unbroken, and the palace room grew turgid with the density of a clotted forest. She could feel Nature coil itself around her, tightening her grip on some mixture of emotion that made her want to overturn the land below and just  _restart the cycle of life—_

She let go. Though her life was always intertwined with the forces of the flora she was aware it would always be wilder and rawer than she could ever be in an eternity. Besides, she wasn’t in possession of any reset bombs at the moment, so her options in destroying the civilization-ruined world were severely limited, if not nonexistent.

It was when she'd breathed even for the first time that she'd realized some energy pulse had been hitting her for a while, and she traced it to the glowing hibiscus in her thorny hair tie. 

She opened a connection. “Hello?"

 

Atop the highest point of the stratosphere, floating thousands and thousands of miles above the planet's northern pole, there was a set of large rocks concealing Smashworld's Temple of Giants. Once a high-security prison, the gods and goddesses of the world now met here for various accords and council meetings—all informal, of course, as befitted the whimsical nature of celestials.

Today there had been a last-minute meeting called to discuss the sporadic appearance of The Swarm. Many higher deities hadn't attended, Palutena being the most discussed out of them, but among the multitudes of lesser gods that  _had_  gone there was the general consensus that Smashworld was off-limits, since it was governed by forces on a level much, much higher than even the most powerful divine being.

Among the participants was one particular woman dressed in form-fitting white and blue tunics. She was floating above the temple's front pavilion when the blue scarf around her neck began to buzz with electricity. "Finally," she muttered, and she interpreted its signals into audible language. Clearing her throat, she greeted, "Gooooood morning."

Viridi had since retreated to her throne. "About time, Phosphora," she said to the air. "What’s the scoop?”

Phosphora had been a long time affiliate of Viridi’s domain, not so much a deity but one of the many Forces of Nature itself. Fortunately for her, her control over electricity allowed her a free-spirited personality, an even more free-spirited manner of moving about—and most importantly, in her own words, giving her opponents intensive shock therapy.

"Well,” she said. “I do have good news. But also bad news. Which do you want first?"

More disappointment? "Oh, great,” Viridi grumbled. “Just surprise me."

"Better start with the bad news first. It seems that no one here's totally ready to, like, get their hands dirty…"

Unseen to Phosphora, Viridi's eyes were bulging from their sockets. “ _What?"_ she cried. "The other gods don’t want to get their hands  _dirty?_ _I know justice is supposed to be blind, but they can’t make this one exception?"_

“There’s been plenty of buzzing about not feeling connected to Smashworld all that much anyway. It’s a little like hearing your old kiddie school building burned down.”

“…Fine. Does anyone who actually  _matters_  want to do anything?” Viridi asked flatly.

“Hmmmmm. Well, if Palutena's little lunchbox notes are any indication, the upper echelon's in the know. Unless they all did what I did and conveniently forgot it. I should also probably mention that the only big shot who's here is Thanatos, but that's only because he's, like, totally convinced this whole invasion thing is a plot to usurp him." Then Phosphora laughed. "Like  _that's_  nothing new."

"How lame," Viridi said. "And I was starting to think us gods actually had our act together. Can never be too oblivious, though. Collect more intel on any celestial movements if you can?”

"I have nothing better to do anyway," Phosphora said. "By the way, Mistress Viridi, good news is that there's a bunch of non-celestials dealing with it already. Quick, right? Last time Smashworld got invaded it was a whole three weeks before even the committee turned their heads."

"Blech," Viridi groaned, sticking her tongue out. "Don't remind me about Subspace at all. All the missing holes in spacetime made me so sick I could barely lift a finger."

"Poor girl," Phosphora cooed with mock sympathy. "Do you want a lollipop and a hug?"

Viridi sighed. "No. But please try to keep me in the loop."

"I'll get to you faster than a bolt," Phosphora said, and then her presence was gone from Viridi's mind.

"Loops…" Viridi muttered. “Who needs loops, anyway?” She extended her hand; the orb of light it formed produced a branch grown gnarled and wild. At its head was a single blackened claw, horned by a pair of bulbous roots that curved inwards. When she raised the branch, the skylight above her opened, and she called down a pillar of light, saying, “I've just got my own twists to tie."

A few moments later a figure fell through the light with an unceremonious thud, followed by several sprinkled layers of autumn-colored tree leaves produced as a magical byproduct.

 

Viridi spotted a pair of black wings sticking out somewhere in the sea of foliage. “Dark Pit,” she said. “Have you even been practicing your landing?”

The angel she’d called to her was, following his name, identical to Pit in every way—save for the fact that this one was much too proud of the  _dark_  part of it. Uprighting himself with a single flap of his wings, he growled. “I never said I was one hundred percent committed to this whole work deal, so I don’t owe you anything.”

“Oh, no,” Viridi murmured in a sudden flash of concern. “That’s right! The babies! Tell me! What happened to them?”

Dark Pit shrugged. He pulled gingerly at the black sash wrapped around his shoulders and looked down into it. “Fresh from the nest,” he said, reaching into the sash and taking out a pair of lavender eggs. “They’re… there.”

Viridi’s face lit up, waving her staff. “These should hatch perfectly well.” A dim aura surrounded the eggs, and they floated effortlessly through the air, settling neatly into a tree hollow hidden behind the large root throne. “And then, when they hatch, they’re going to grow up big and strong, and Mama’s going to raise them in the  _perfect art of_   _world domination_.” She had said the last few words dreamily, which made Dark Pit roll his eyes.

“Gross. Save it for later.” The angel folded his arms. “So what's the matter? You looked like there was something wrong a few moments ago. More reset bomb factory setbacks?”

“It’s not  _my_  fault the original spell got destroyed by Mommy Palutena’s little angel,” Viridi retorted. “But we’re sure to figure it out any day now. I’ve got a sixth sense, you know.” Then she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’d rather you just see this for yourself.” She snapped her fingers, and vanished from sight. When she reappeared next to Dark Pit, she lowered the head of her staff and drew an invisible line along the ground in front of them. From it, two sprouts grew some feet apart, reaching up until they arched inwards and twined around each other, raining down a sheet of mist.

Then she projected a vision of Pit’s form onto the newly formed smokescreen:

_The angel’s expression is wide, not out of fright but of speechlessness. Before him is the mottled green of the land below, the northern mountain ranges rising through the wake of the morning clouds._

_Below him is fire. Hell has risen from the ground and replaced its life with the soulless frays of the lifeless. They are pale white. They are dead. They are made of shadow, made of something unreal, not alive. Surrounding them is the Swarm; it spins as a planet, and its sky is the darkness it brings with its very presence._

_Pit can only see the broken spires of the Coliseum rising from the swath of black. His first thought is to yell. “Lady Palutena… Lady Palutena!”_

When the vision had dissipated, Dark Pit blinked, narrowing his eyes. “What the—what’s  _he_ doing there? What’s going on?” he questioned, but Viridi said nothing, using a flick of the head to direct him back towards the projection where another sight was gathering:

_The goddess Palutena is standing before her Palace. It glistens in the bleakness of the sky. She leads the small legion of smashers towards the doors. The creatures of shadow are already there, eating through the strings of magic and walls of light—the apocrypha—with the intensity of ravenous animals._

_Palutena is armed with her staff in one hand and the glistening Mirror Shield strapped tightly to the other. She breathes, and squads of centurions race to meet the storm of darkness with spears blazing. Her face appears to have forgotten emotion._

_“I won't command you in this fight,” she says. “But I give you my blessing.”_

_She waits. The smashers ready themselves. She nods. They rush forward._

Viridi growled. “Horrible, isn’t it?”

“I'm more confused than scared,” Dark Pit replied.

“I have to agree," Viridi replied. "But it seems Palutena was in a rush to get this little thing passed around. Probably  _everyone_  in all the realms of heaven has these same messages by now.”

Dark Pit shook his head. "That doesn't count me, apparently. And I heard your ranting about the messages before. All of _that_  in ten sentences? Where did you even get these images?"

"Haven't you been paying attention these past few months?" Viridi said. "The efficient gods always write their messages on visuospatial optic fibers."

"Visu-what?"

"Never mind." Then she dismissed the screen’s mistfall and replaced it with a swath of her own magic, opening a view of her plant-vision. “And… now to convert…” she muttered as the magic shifted, aberrating as if camera lens were being adjusted, and then both goddess and angel saw a clear view of a field of flowers.

The flowers were stout, their buds round and full, swaying like small targets with their red, yellow, and white bands. They grew like wildfire atop their verdant stems, the impossibly round petals burning with vigor and spreading over the field like a thick and hearty blanket.

Dark Pit raised an eyebrow. “I'm not much for flowers. Much less what happens to  _fire_  flowers."

"Really?" Viridi said, snickering. "I thought you were all about that 'hot topic' aesthetic."

"Not that kind of hot topic."

On the screen, the flowers began to sway rapidly. The projected image no longer played smoothly; they were disjointed, crooked, jagged—and suddenly the clouds were leaping across the sky in great distances within seconds, sun and moon appearing to run in their arc across the sky as the number of days passed reached higher and higher.

Then Viridi paused the magical replay. "I've been getting random ether waves lately from Smashworld. They're like pulses—and when I go to trace where they come from I find out another one of my children's sending out distress calls!" She scoffed. "But that's not the worst of it! I go to investigate  _one_  of these and I get this."

She waved toward the screen again, where the images played in real-time now. There were a few moments of stillness, quiet, with the field as normal as it had always looked. Suddenly a blackness covered the view like an eruption from the ground had occurred.

The view was null for a few seconds, and then the dark had receded.

Dark Pit drew back from the screen. "What the...?"

“GONE! All gone!” Viridi cried, anger surging through her. “Look at this mess! Everything is all ashes!"

Indeed, all the fire flowers had, ironically, been burnt to a charred, withering smoulder. Where there had been clean air and a sunlit field there was now smoke and a barren landscape, gray and heaving painfully for life.

Dark Pit narrowed his eyes at the screen. His eyes had caught movement among the mounds of ash; faint shadows were lumbering about like the undead in action comics he'd read in earlier years. "It looks like whatever jerk attacked Pit and the Palace also attacked this place," he said in a low voice."

Viridi's anger seemed to have been replaced with an irritated scowl. She allowed the image on the screen to dissolve once more before she began to pace the floor slowly. "You still remember Hades?"

"Sometimes I wish I wouldn't remember."

With a wave of magic from Viridi's staff, the roots that had held the stream of mist shrunk into dried and empty shells before decomposing into the floor. "Before you were created," the goddess said, "Before Hades even had his second awakening, this place was almost destroyed by invaders from a separate realm."

"Smashworld too?" Dark Pit said. “What’s happening now must be the same thing.” He shrugged, still nonchalant. “World domination. That sure is new…”

“Exactly!" Viridi exclaimed, wheeling around on her heels. "That’s why we've gotta act now! You know what happened that last time Smashworld got invaded? Palutena and her little angel saved the day!"

Dark Pit seemed unsurprised. "Outside home borders or not, it doesn't look like anything's going to keep them from showing up."

Brandishing her staff proudly, Viridi announced, "So that’s where  _you_  come in, my trusted aide!”

“You mean I’m going to plant some gardens?” Dark Pit challenged.

Viridi humphed. “You already know what you’re going to do.”

“And that includes helping the little angel out?”

“You won’t even get a whiff of him.”

Dark Pit cracked a smile—a genuine one, though it was short-lived. “Sure thing, boss,” he said, moving back towards the spot under the ether light where he’d descended.

Viridi took no time to gather glowing magic in her staff. “Off you go, then. A fallen Planet Popstar to the right and straight on ‘till morning. Don’t be late when you get to Dream Land.” Her magic shot towards him, enveloping him for a moment, and then he flew up in a pillar of light, his wings blazing with rich violet flames.

 

The goddess sat on her throne. She had time alone now, but she wasn’t too fond of idly thinking to herself. The tree hollow behind her spoke to her with the gentle pulsing of life only plants were capable of, and, looking up at it, Viridi was reminded of her original plans before bad news reached her doorstep. But she was a veteran of raising kin to nature, and she'd already received the eggs here, so she waved her hand and focused her magic in the hollow up above. She swaddled the eggs and gently floated them from their nest, drifting them into her lap.

Stroking their shells gently, she began to whisper in Awyleor, the timbre of her voice shaping a quiet lullaby:  _O, Mother Nature, full in august, gold-bladed of plentiful fruit, I begin to sing—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work's reaching 50k and our characters have yet to undergo the trials that await them... (live studio audience ooooo sfx)  
> I'm pausing work on this to write some other pieces that'll act as half-prequels to this story--they're all set in this particular universe and are part of this universe's canon, so! please look forward to them!  
> I think the most important one is gonna be this one called "To Find Home" first, and it'll definitely have a more moving plot than In the Wake of Legends.........


	14. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Magic was meant to be a science, you know—and science does follow certain rules. Magic can only be used to manipulate what already is possible and cannot be used to achieve the impossible. And that's not even touching on the incredibly astounding subjects like that of, say, magi-thermodynamics. By taking up this course, students, you've opened yourselves up to a world even the best of us haven't fully discovered yet. Now, onto our first lesson..."  
> \--[somewhere filed away deep in Robin's collections of transcripts]

“Right,” Robin said. Her voice was quiet, as if she were wary of the forest. “And you’re sure this will reach him before noon?”

The small mailtoad patted his knapsack, nodding his speckled mushroom cap at her. “Easy-peasy! As long as Mr. Reflet stays right where he is, then this’ll be in his hands in a jiffy!” He continued to hum, twirling on one of his stubby feet. “Especially since you saved me from that sticky trap and all. It would have been days before anyone found me!”

Robin chuckled. “Being stuck here would certainly… have been unfortunate. But you’re quite welcome. I hope this small detour doesn’t throw off your schedule.”

“Think nothing of it! Skyloft isn’t as far from here as you think!”

“It’s not?” she shook her head slowly. “I thought it was off in some distant country—”

The mailtoad let out a guffawing noise before he caught himself—“No, no, too early!” he wheezed. “I appreciate the good intention, but I’m  _horrible_ with comedy. You’re gonna have me laughing for hours!”

“Oh, well, I—” Robin ignored the blush seeping into her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “All’s well and good, then,” she said, reaching into one of her pockets. “I’ll even pay you double for making good time!”

She knelt down and handed the mailtoad a few extra gold coins, which he happily accepted. Then he walked away, his gaze held high as if searching the breaks in the forest canopy.

He stopped after several moments—perhaps he had been looking to see the sky—and he reached into his bag. Robin watched him produce a small, silver whistle. It looked like one of the creature-taming whistles that vendors at Home occasionally had enough stock to sell.

He blew into it, allowing its empty call echo through the interstices of the forest’s foliage for a few seconds. Robin had expected to see some breed of horse or large dog bound its way underneath the canopy. But what had come were not fast-approaching hoof beats, nor low rumbles—instead, there was a shrill, piercing  _caaaw_  that ripped through the clouds.

“Whoa!” Robin barely stepped back enough to make room for the giant mass of blue that alighted sharply through the trees, bringing with it a drizzle of leaves.

She blinked. The thing in front of her was a large bird, trilling softly as the mailtoad climbed atop its back where a saddle was fastened.

“There we go!” the mailtoad said jovially. “All set!”

Robin approached him curiously. The bird certainly looked trained in its patience— _and it looks like one of the Whalehead birds of the Ancient Faroreans!_  Except, Robin noted, this creature was a lot more beautiful than the books told her; the plumes atop its head curled like a regal crown, and the sheen of its feathers seemed to be carefully groomed, all the way down to its wingtips.

Robin wrinkled her nose in thought. Her fellow tactician Reflet had mentioned these birds occasionally after a negotiations trip some time ago. There was an airmail service that prided itself on them—what were they called? Lazuli? Arwing?

“No… it’s a loftwing,” Robin murmured softly. She laid one hand carefully on the bird’s side, marveling at the touch of sleekness under her skin. “A real loftwing.”

“Not to worry!” the mailtoad called to her, now fastening his harnesses. “The shipping is free! And safe, too. Token transportation of the mail, these big birds.” The loftwing stood up and Robin backed away quickly. Then it stretched its broad wings and flapped once, twice—the mailtoad called out, “enjoy the rest of your day!”—and then it disappeared beyond the clouds.

As soon as Robin was sure the loftwing was gone, she immediately glanced over to find Lucina still asleep. She was lying motionless on her tarp, save for the slow in-and-out of her breathing. She looked mechanical, like some tin soldier quietly set away to rest.

It seemed the recent commotion hadn’t stirred Lucina at all.  _Probably catching up on all that lost sleep,_ Robin thought, heading over to wake her.  _Especially after yesterday’s venturing._

She looked up as she moved, studying the sky. It was still a little dark, and had just begun to take on gradients of pink and gold, leading her to realize that the sun wouldn’t be fully risen for a while.  _Which means I could be using this time to…_

She stopped, her lips curling into a small smile. Then she turned, heading to the pile of their belongings. She’d wake Lucina later.

“All right then,” she murmured. “What happened yesterday?”

After deciding to aid Lucina in her search for her father, Robin had left Home in charge of Chrom’s immediate confidantes—the trip, she said, was only supposed to be a few days. She and Lucina then left at the first sight of the moon.

The first hours after leaving the quietude of Home were uneventful, with Lucina occasionally asking about what lay beyond Gaur Plain and Robin reciting what she’d researched the night before. Then, once they’d crossed into wilder territory, the two of them had suddenly become continual targets—pecked at by ravenous Guays or circled by herds of Armu. And when night had eventually fallen, there came the out-of-place rustlings and the far-off bellows that had urged them to hurry out of the Plain as quickly as possible.

The moon was still glowing when they’d arrived in Hyrule—an alien country as far as Robin and Lucina were concerned—and their long-sought overnight refuge had been a clearing within the grainy and dense branches of a woods.

Which, of course, meant that their supply of provisions had decreased. She ran her gaze over the scattered baggage before her and reached down to pick up a small notebook and a pen. Then she used her thumb to leaf through the book, stopping when she spotted a page marked with yesterday’s date. An inventory was written on it, distinguished with large letters indicating key items and smaller bullets of side-notes and things to remember.

“Well, Chrom, we’ll get to you soon enough,” Robin said. “Hopefully in one piece.”

 

Lucina remained still while Robin worked.

Though Robin had thought it to be peaceful, Lucina’s rest was jagged by a continual  _itch_  at her mind urging her to check her surroundings between the hours. From sleep she would bolt upright, eyes wide at the woods with its halcyon lull so unsettlingly different from the feral rawness of the Plain. Then she would lie back down on her tarp, quickly falling peaceful again as if she’d never stirred.

It was a sleep pattern she’d found a personal purlieu in, since years of mercenary work had given her time to grow accustomed to it.

She was happy to find she was able to return to it last night since the nightmares had been staved off, for once. And if the shadows came again, she told herself, she knew better this time than to succumb to her fears. But in her broken stream of consciousness, in the moments she was alone with her thoughts, she had the unshakable feeling that her awakenings weren’t just because of routine.

When Robin had gently prodded her, saying it was time to leave, Lucina half-expected to see night-time again. She groaned at the scatter of sunlight in her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Robin said, kneeling down next to her. The spires of Gaur Plain were hunched lines of brown behind them now, and once they crossed Hyrule Field, they were set to enter the realms of the Coliseum.

After a few blinks of adjusting to her surroundings Lucina was sitting upright, shaking her head half dazedly. “No. I mean yes. I’ve survived on less sleep than this.”

Robin stood up, sighing. “I’m sorry we couldn’t set up camp earlier.”

“I know, I know,” Lucina said, faintly registering that she was still on the ground. She moved off her tarp and spoke as she folded it. “Although, I think I’d be even less rested if we had slept back in Gaur Plain.” Once she’d finished with the tarp she turned to place it in her satchel—which, she quickly realized, was nonexistent. “Or perhaps I might be just deluding myself.”

“It’s over there,” Robin said.

Lucina turned her head to see her satchel some ways off, leaned against Robin’s in some kind of lazy steeple. Lying near the bags was a line of items: her cape neatly folded, a pair of thin books— _Robin’s magic tomes, probably_ —and both Lucina’s and Robin’s swords in their sheaths.

There were other packages with contents Lucina wasn’t sure of, but they were neatly stacked in groups and labeled with small rippings of paper—and, as Lucina retraced her gaze, the other items had been cared for just as meticulously. “Good gods,” she said to Robin. “I wouldn’t think to take so much time with sorting.”

“Oh.” Robin lowered her eyes. “Yes. I did note that you packed a lot lighter than I did. It must be easier for you to keep track of your things.”

Realizing she’d said her words more crassly than intended, Lucina cleared her throat. “Ah, well, um. It’s true I hadn’t thought of bringing anything other than the bare essentials.” She carried the folded tarp to her satchel and made an effort to show a smile while she finished packing. She then affixed her cape and hefted her bag over her shoulder, adding “But that’s only because I live by the principles of living off what the land gives you. I’d completely forgotten we’d be traveling into lands unknown.” She tried to quell the thought that Robin had definitely sensed the forced humbleness by now.

But Robin began to giggle. “It’s quite alright. Most of the weight I’m carrying is from the disposables, anyway. After yesterday, it’s lessened a bit. I even found I needed to toss some of it while I was going over the inventory this morning.”

Lucina had picked up her sword and had unsheathed it slightly to inspect it. “Disposables?” she asked, fitting the sling securely so the scabbard wouldn’t hinder her walking.

“Food, some staves. And the fire and thunder tomes you’ve been seeing me use,” Robin said, stooping to pick up her shorter bronze sword and the thin books, “Especially the tomes. They’re just pre-laminated with magic to make them easier and quicker to use. They’re solely meant for battle.”

“What of those other tomes you have there?”

“Oh, these?” Robin glanced down at what she was carrying. “These are spell books, not tomes. These aren’t as heavy because they’re just plain paper.” She finished fitting her sword and then tucked one of her books inside her robe. “The magic—” she opened the other book to where she’d bookmarked it. Curved lines formed a design across the spread pages, nesting a sea of runes. “—is from the substance of the world itself. The living  _ousia_  that Exists As Is.”

Lucina stared at her with some fixated confusion. “What do you mean?”

“It’s…” Robin paused. “I guess you can call it another brand of magic. Except instead of controlling elements you’re creating your own instead.”

“But that’s forbidden.”

Robin winced. “Forbidden… how?”

“You should know.” Lucina’s confusion dissolved into mild skepticism. “You oversee our schooling system, I mean, and what’s taught in them. Wouldn’t you know everything that’s written in the first chapters of the  _Reule Aritia_?”

“Ah, yes. The very foundation of existence itself as passed through our people,” Robin answered.

“So? Tell me what you know about the laws of being.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Wow. You sounded genuinely curious there.”

“Was I supposed to sound like something else?”

“No. Come on—” Robin gestured lightly, beginning to walk through the forest, watching the ground for where years of travelers’ feet had created faint paths. The book was still open in her palm. “—It’s just… you’re usually so…  _dead-set_  about everything. I admit I thought you were trying to challenge me.”

Lucina trailed her some steps behind. “Heh, I probably would be challenging you, if circumstances were different. But you did show me yesterday that there’s a lot more to you than just everyone’s dutiful Overseer.”

“Thanks, really. You’re giving me too much credit. I just wanted to help out.”

“If all you’re giving is help,” Lucina said, “then it’s quite a lot.”

The other woman said nothing in response, and the two of them walked in silence for a little bit.

Then Robin took a long breath, closing the book temporarily. “I guess I should answer you. Hmmm. When Ashera and Yune blessed humanity with intelligence, the so-called ‘fountains of dreams’, they etched one phrase into each. Ashera’s fountain said  _take heed_ and Yune’s fountain said  _give heart_. We learn by logic and we learn by emotion. And, when the two goddesses are combined—becoming Ashunera—we become aware of what  _Is_.”

“That’s what the books say,” Lucina said. “But it also says what happens to those who try to manipulate what Is, and that includes—”

Robin counted her answers on her fingers: “Turning corrupted, becoming a so-called evil force, trying to achieve ultimate power, starting a years-long devastating war, transforming into some kind of terrible beast-dragon form and ending up obliterated or simply banished to realms farther than even the Lands Beyond.”

Lucina knitted her brows. “Right. So… what are you doing trying to do just that? You know just as well as I do what evil magic does.”

Robin raised a brow. “This is the challenge you’ve been holding off on, huh? What makes you think it’s automatically a bad thing? Is dark magic a bad thing just because it’s dark?”

“No, since the dark mages we call friends wouldn’t be a hundred meters near us otherwise.” Lucina narrowed her eyes. “But anyone who’s read our history records knows that trying to play the gods causes nothing good.”

“That’s because the writers of history only knew power as something to be abused. It’s a little biased, mind them.”

“Biased.”

“ _Reule Aritia._  Through Yune’s blessings of freedom and feeling we developed morals to adhere ourselves, and that’s why some things are always good or always evil. But through Ashera’s blessings of law and order we developed logical reasoning. Action begets consequence. What the great villains of our legends did were just selfish actions that caused unfavorable consequences. After enough times people started calling their use of Ancient Sorcery as evil as they were. Dark Magic too.”

Lucina’s expression turned blank. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, if I struck someone down with my sword,” Robin explained, “then who’s to blame? My sword or me? And if enough people get attacked by bronze swords, would you call bronze swords a weapon of evil?”

After some quiet pondering, Lucina shook her head slightly. “Then what  _is_  evil?”

“Only a name for things that cause ruin for us. But the mere existence of anything, even sorcery that undoes the laws of all natures, can never be evil.”

Lucina looked back. The forest’s shadows had started to cut twisted lines through the morning sunlight. “Do you really think so?”

Robin turned to smile at Lucina. “I’ll show you.”

Once they had reached a clearing in the forest, Robin opened her small spellbook again and turned to a page spread Lucina recognized from earlier. “First is opening the blood vessels. You allow your energy to synchronize with that of the earth”—she lifted her free hand and spread her fingers out in a fan, her expression hardening—“and then you  _will_  yourself above the tides.”

Nothing changed in her appearance for a few seconds, leading Lucina to wonder if anything was happening at all. Then Robin’s outstretched hand pulsed. A soft white light washed over her at once, spilling onto the ground as it flowed.

Lucina felt something like cool silk touch her arms. She looked down and saw the light creeping over her skin. She jerked away instinctively, and it silently fell away from her onto the ground where it swirled around her feet like plumes of milky fog. “Robin!” she cried, stepping back. “What… what are you doing?”

Robin did not answer immediately. The light she’d conjured had already engulfed a wide radius around both her and Lucina, far past the denser clusters of trees, and it kept billowing forward for what seemed like a long time until, at last, Robin relaxed herself. The light ceased to pour from her hands.

“This,” Robin said, loud enough for Lucina to hear now that they were far apart, “is energy creation. What we’re standing in right now is both nothing and something at once—it just is.”

Robin released her hold on the book in front of her. To Lucina’s amazement, it stayed in mid-air, frozen like time and space were nonexistent to it. Slowly, Robin laid both hands on its spread, and then recited words in a language Lucina wasn’t sure she recognized. As Robin continued to speak, a striking red traced the design across the book’s pages, and suddenly the sea of light on the ground became like droplets of water that fell and sunk into the earth.

Robin closed her eyes after all the light had disappeared. “When you are freed from the flow of natural order, what would limit other people no longer limits you. You can use your power to control things there could never be any spell for. Because magic is simply change—and instead of changing something’s form, you’re changing everything that it  _is._ ”

Lucina looked down. The grass was dry and clumpy, and the forest floor was covered in dead leaves of muted browns and greens. “But everything looks the same. What did you do?”

Eyes still closed, Robin let out a lulling  _shhhhhhhh._ “Just wait.”

Lucina waited. The morning birds had been awake all morning and were still chittering. There was the cadence of cicadas somewhere in the distance, probably where the forest had opened itself to sunshine. She saw the trees around her with their thin and pale branches flocking greedily around the larger, heartier trunks of oak. Moss and lichen pooled in fuzzy green clusters over piles of rocks and patches of bark where sunlight failed to reach.

“Why,” Lucina said. “I don’t think I—”

Everything shivered.

Lucina gasped, blinking her eyes. There it was—a sound; a pulse, a heartbeat of energy that built up all she saw and heard. The forest floor was now quaking with such a sureness that Lucina thought a fissure would crack the ground without warning. But she could not feel the vibrations of the shaking earth. All she felt was the heartbeat, now a low rumbling in her soul.

Some moments passed before Robin opened her eyes again. She let out a slow sigh. “You become stardust and suddenly you have the universe at your beck and call.” She chuckled. “Mind my poeticism.”

“What is… what  _is_  that power?” Lucina exhaled slowly. “It’s so… absolute.”

Robin carefully watched the red on her spellbook start to snake from the pages, wrapping around her fingertips instead. “I know it as  _Ignis_. The flame that only the great Grandmasters of our tribe could carry. It’s powerful, yes—but there’s a complication. Once you get to this point, you have to  _keep_ yourself there. The tides… they do everything they can to pull you under. I’ve read about many a sorcerer who were too weak to fight the currents… or, more commonly, were strong enough to be completely engulfed by them. You know them as the great villains and dark lords of our history.”

“I see. But the magic of evil looks and feels nothing like that.”

“I’m surprised you remember,” Robin said, sounding sad. “You were rather young when I first met you.”

“It’s hard to forget what true darkness is like,” Lucina said quietly.

Robin fell silent. Then she suddenly thrust her palm high, curling her hand and exclaiming in that otherworldly language. And all the world rushed to her, compressing themselves within the confines of her fist—except, as Lucina realized, the lights that had sunk into the ground were rising, only appearing to bring pieces of the land with them.

Lucina jumped at the sight of seeing everything rushing past her so quickly. Her head whipped up at Robin. There, above her raised hand, was a brilliant shining that grew more vibrant every second.

Every mile washed over by Robin’s spell was now a particle in her hand, ricocheting against her skin like thousands of needle pricks. When they stopped their movement Robin was left with the sensation of a faint pulsing, a life of her own making.

She waited a moment more. Then she uttered the final words— _en fen_ —and opened her palm. She’d created a small sphere, black and smooth with patterns engraved into its exterior. Lucina walked up to it wordlessly, and Robin held it out for her to examine.

The sphere was cool to the touch, and Lucina realized the set of patterns covering it was in fact one large network of lines, marked with small circles all throughout the shell.

Turning the sphere over in her hands, Lucina’s eyes widened. “It lights up where I touch it, too…”

“It’s thermo-reactive,” Robin said, her voice a little hoarse.

“Robin?” Lucina frowned. “Are you alright?”

Robin laughed breathlessly. “It’s a little tiring using  _Ignis_ magic, and I haven’t done spells this intense since forever. The old masters called this an  _overworld—_ it’s a foci that gives us a layout of whatever land belongs to this country—Hyrule, if you remember—and we’ll be able to track down our destination much more easily.”

“Heh. About time,” Lucina said. “Soon we’ll have this mess sorted out.”

Robin looked ahead of her. The sun was still hours before its apex, but it meant the day ahead would be lengthy. “Come on, then! Let’s get going.”

Lucina rolled the foci in her hands a little longer before handing it back with care. “I wish I’d spent more days at Home rather than out in the plains. Who knows what other wonders I could have witnessed?”

“Who knows indeed?” Robin pressed a sequence of places on the foci before it released a number of light particles that formed a circle around the ball. One of them turned red, and Robin pointed in its direction. “There. The general location of the Coliseum is that way.”

As the pair began to walk again, Lucina looked up at the sky filtered through the leaves, squinting at the high branches that crowded across the forest canopy—but her gaze seemed to always settle down at Robin in front of her.  _I don’t think any of the Shepherds’ mages could do that,_ she thought,  _or at least, if they tried, not like this. Not even Miriel with all her strange sciences would think to learn it… but the Grandmasters…_

“Robin?” Lucina said. “I’ve been wondering—wondering if Reflet has gotten to your skill level in this kind of magic.”

Without turning, Robin frowned slightly. ”Ah, well, he’s certainly great with his tomes.”

“But you two were both Grandmasters in training before you quit and joined us, right? And you said just now that  _Ignis_  was exclusive to your tribe. He has to know something about this too.”

“Well, if I must be honest,” Robin said after some thinking, “Reflet isn’t one for the occult studies. He likes to keep his tactician skills on the top, so he’s only ever delved into the kinds of magic everyone else knows. If you ask him about  _Ignis,_ he won’t show much.”

Lucina crossed her arms. “Sounds incredibly taboo.”

“It is, I won’t deny—I’ve had to study in secret since Reflet thinks  _Ignis_  isn’t, well, ‘right’. But, like I said, he’s stuck to the stories that tell us so.”

Lucina thought back to the incredible pulses of light that had swarmed her. When she’d listened to the heartbeats of existence itself, she’d perceived the world, if only for a second, as something as small as herself and at the same time wider than anything she could understand. It was mind-numbing, and it was just as Robin had said: riptides that tore away at those who tried to swim against them.

“I think I finally believe you,” Lucina said. “When you said that nothing really exists to be evil. The things that  _are_ evil—they’re choices, and consequences, and qualities. Things that become part of us. And realizing that is what’s made you able to control it so well?”

Robin hadn’t realized she’d been tense for a while. Relaxing herself, she said, “I’m surprised at your wisdom, even if we are merely months apart. I suppose I have much learning to do. And I call myself well-read!” She laughed.

“The same goes for me.” Lucina perked her chin up. “And we must keep moving on if we’re going to find Father.”

For the first time since leaving Home, Robin and Lucina shared a smile. Then they set off through the woods, farther from familiar lands and deeper into the unknown.

But, as she followed behind, Lucina’s grin turned somber, growing darker as she continued through the path leading from the forest into the light of Hyrule Field.

It wouldn’t be long now before the Coliseum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the sounds of explosions can be heard) I'm still alive you see! I am!! I swear!  
> also after all this time I've thought long and hard about where I'm going to put my foot down with character weight and it's cooling down now after being removed from the oven.  
> Cooling veeeery slowly.


	15. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "While I consider myself rather unbiased by religion, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to deny that divine inspiration was an instrumental factor in birthing this weapon. The minutiae of its design are just all so fascinating. Who knows? Perhaps god and machine can coexist in harmony."  
> — from a personal assortment of notes titled "Remnants of the Monado Expedition"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (・⊆・）  
> Special thanks to Jay and Soru for making this all possible.  
> Also, for returning readers... this chapter has a minor callback to large changes I made to chapter 3B (Check changelog yo)

Colony 9 awoke to the sounds of machinery. Many other civilizations knew more mundane noises of the morning—the sleepy yawns of workers, the mellifluous calls of birds, or the persistent vibrato of insects. But Colony 9, nestled on lonely grounds joining Gaur Plain and Smashworld’s mountains, had been built from the ground up to be replete with all sorts of technology, old and new alike. Thus it was unique in its humming of ether regulators, its heavy turning of ancient anti-air batteries, and its gentle flickers of the ether lights hanging high above the streets.

News of the previous day—the giant, the fall of the Coliseum, the attack on the Palace—had yet to reach the Hive Citadel. It had yet to reach the rest of Smashworld, for that matter, since the aether-net was still inaccessible and had not gone back up since its crash.

Of course, to most people, it had seemed like some arbitrary error in the system. Much of the land still looked like it was vibrant with life, and, unlike the invasion of Subspace, no great clouds of doom had yet heralded the arrival of a great evil. For that reason, Smashworld had no reason to worry, and it remained unaware of the virus that had already claimed it as host, oblivious to the swarm that had already begun to feed.

That morning, long before the sun was to rise in Colony 9, there came the sounds of machinery, as there had always been.

At the edge of the Colony where the mountainside was beginning to cast long, dark shadows, there was a small building complex built of stone, stacks of splintered crates clustered by its walls. Inside the building, past the ether lamp-lit entrance, there was a single long hallway that branched into numerous doors.

Drills were quietly whirring behind the room at the very end—a room that a boy named Shulk called home.

Shulk was known throughout the colony as an orphaned child who had honed a brilliant mind for engineering with a steadfast heart for his work. If he wasn’t already in wthe middle of weapon research, or lost in translation projects, he would be out testing new developments, or carefully making plans for weapons of his own design, or, once in a blue moon, quietly sitting on the bench in Outlook Park with his nose in a book.

His room in the Weapon Development Lab, however, was special to him. There were bits of papers brushed to the corners of his desk, some of them forgotten remnants of past ideas he’d dreamt, failures and successes alike. There were books he’d noted to be invaluable with their knowledge, volumes of different series filling the desk shelves and stacked in the tall bookcases further to the left. There were small notes taped to the edges of the desk and on the wall with personal reminders he’d set for himself. Placed carefully in the corners of his desk were mementos of his upbringing—marred woodwork from his best friends and medallions of mentors dear to him.

And it was all to his liking. No person had dared to disrupt the organized mess Shulk had made out of that room, because this was the place he called home.

Though other scientists or close friends sometimes were with him, most of Shulk’s time in this room was spent alone, with only the living ether of his weaponry to keep him company through the long hours of tinkering.

This time he only had one visitor.

"I hope you know I can hardly wait," a girl his age said, holding back a yawn. Her straw-colored hair fell in bunches around her shoulders, ruffled as if she had recently risen from bed. She stood near the desk, where Shulk was busy working, and the only thing separating him from her was a curtain hastily made from an iron rack and two tattered cuttings of tarp.

Though the room was a little dark, her vision had adjusted well enough to see where the fabric parted. She quietly pulled it apart to peek inside.

The first thing she saw was Shulk, who quickly turned to her with a chiding look. “Fiora!” he exclaimed. “You said you wouldn’t peek!”

Fiora giggled. “I know, I know. But I thought you’d be done by now!” After another moment, she stepped away from the curtain and turned around, deciding that wandering around the room would be a better distraction.

As Shulk returned to work, his voice emerged from behind the curtain. "You didn't have to wake up so early. I would have made sure you were the first to see this."

Fiora rolled her eyes, smiling. "But what I _wouldn't_ see is you finishing it.” She stifled another yawn. “I don’t really remember this place being so... dark and musty. Your eyes must be sore."

"No, you’re right, it’s not like this all the time,” Shulk said. Fiora heard the high pitched drone of a drill buzzing its way through the metal as he continued, slightly raising his voice. “It’s all controlled, actually. This ether-infused alloy I'm working with needs low light."

"Or else what?" Fiora asked, walking away from the curtain.

"It’ll burn right up!" Shulk replied with a laugh.

Fiora smiled wordlessly in response. She sat down, turning over a jar of burnished scraps she’d found nearby. “I know how careful you have to be. It’s almost like with cooking—there are plenty of ingredients that need special care. Store them too warm or too cool and—” she made a mocking gasp of horror “—it's already got holes in it from rotting!”

Shulk audibly shuddered. “I don't really think my work is anything like yours."

“It's not?”

"Well, to start with, this kind of work," he said, stopping the drill, "doesn't involve skinning freshly killed animals…"

"Aww. Are you saying _my_ work is harder?"

"N-no... Just different."

“I’ll believe you,” Fiora said, nodding to herself, “for now, at least.”

She eyed the brick walls around her. She could just barely make out the silhouettes of open cabinets, of metal shelves collecting dust, of large pipes stuck at odd angles near the ceiling, of clusters of old shields and rifles and other weapons she couldn’t make out.

Her eyes caught the faded light at the very back of the room, where there was a lone lightbulb illuminating a cylindrical dais of metal. It was tethered by pipes running along the ground to large machines behind the construct.

Atop the dais was a sword—at least, it looked like a sword—held upright by braces. It was forged of a sleek, red-colored metal, and it there were a few places where the blade did not close over. To Fiora, the blade’s shape had some resemblance to the knives she would use when cooking. Where the hilt ended, there was no crossguard. Instead, the metal curved out, forming a large circle when it closed in again.

It could only be _that_ special weapon. "Wow!" Fiora exclaimed. "Is this where you keep the Monado?"

With a sudden clatter of metal on his desk, Shulk immediately pulled the curtain aside and lunged forward, hand outstretched. "Fiora, wait! Careful with that!"

Fiora drew back, eyes wide. "What? What's wrong?"

Shulk emerged fully and rushed to the dais. Squeezing past metal carts and gently nudging Fiora aside, he leaned down to inspect the weapon. "It's very easy to damage the Monado,” he said softly.

"It is?" Fiora asked. She noticed that, even though the sun had barely risen, Shulk was fitted in his work uniform, even donning his familiar hooded red vest. The streaks of oil staining his messy blond hair and smudging his goggles led her to think that, perhaps, he hadn’t left the lab since yesterday.

"Yeah, and not to mention you could've accidentally activated it." Shulk glanced cautiously at the machinery behind the dais. "In the wrong hands, it’s near-uncontrollable. Imagine all the damage it would cause to the lab!"

Fiora crossed her arms angrily. "Damage! You mean you wouldn't care if I got hurt? Or worse?"

"I mean… of course I would _care_ ," Shulk, who had never been able to understand why she was so fond of melodrama, replied nonchalantly. "But the actual damaging power of the Monado is rather unique. It seems its power can't hurt Homs like us."

Fiora sighed. "Well, at least your research found something useful."

"Not really." Shulk looked at her with a shy smile, then he turned back to the Monado before him with a thoughtful hum. "I haven't started research on it, to be honest. All I know about it comes from what I've heard passed down through others."

"That's all? It's been months since the expedition!"

"I know..." Shulk admitted sheepishly. "But—" he turned back to whatever he'd been hiding behind the curtains. "Next to work, I've been spending all my time on that."

"Okay, then," Fiora agreed. She playfully pushed him towards the desk. "You should finish it!"

"R-Right!" Shulk laughed with sudden enthusiasm. He headed back towards the curtains and slipped inside. "I just need to make a few safety checks. It should be ready soon."

"Mmm-hmm," Fiora said. "I'll wait out here."

Shulk then returned to his work, gently asking Fiora to let him concentrate, and in turn, she sat down on the grey tiled floor and waited, occasionally finding herself in need of breaking the ambience with some random, curious question.

But soon Shulk's head emerged from the curtains. He was smiling expectantly.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Fiora let out an exasperated sigh. "Finally! My legs are tired of sitting!"

Shulk pulled back the curtain just a little, slipping out to help Fiora stand. "Okay," he said. "Are you ready?"

"Ready!" She covered her eyes, angling her hands a little to let her perky smile peek through.

“All right, then,” Shulk said, and he pulled the curtains all the way. On his desk, in the middle of a mess of metal scraps and tools, was a device emitting a constant flow of ethereal air through a small, round grate.

There was a small mechanism floating there. It appeared to be a flat, golden triangle embossed with a series of lines along one side. Shulk carefully stuck his hand through the flow and removed the mechanism, holding it between the pads of his fingers.

Fiora squinted at the strange device before her. "Wow. It looks a bit like the core for that machina suit you built for me last year—" she suddenly gasped, looking at him with widened eyes."You’re kidding! You made another one?!"

"It’s more like I found out how to make it work." Shulk replied, smiling broadly at her. He handed the golden triangle core to Fiora. Without a second thought, she brought it up to the center of her chest. Her eyes widened as the core lit up red, apparently reacting to her being, and she let go of it. Instead of dropping, the core stuck to her skin like a magnet.

"It feels a lot more natural," she said, looking down at it. "What else did you fix?"

"I’m glad you asked,” Shulk said, beginning to clear out some of the rubble on his desk. “It no longer runs on liquidized ether for fuel. There are vents that intake and filter air from the environment, so you could very much use it as long as you’d want to. The only downside is that you'll have to make sure you drink some water every now and then so it doesn't overheat." He nodded, as if satisfied with himself. "But it also means the machina suit is both a lot stronger and more durable."

“But the drones, Shulk…” Fiora said quietly. “Will I still have to…?”

Shulk’s eyebrows went up. “That’s right! I almost forgot!” he exclaimed, laughing. “You can move freely now while you control them.”

"I can? Like mind control?” Fiora was nearly bouncing on her feet. “I’d love to try it out now! Is it ready for a test run?"

Shulk smiled again, finding her enthusiasm too infectious to resist. "That seems like a good idea.” He turned to the door. “Let’s go, then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Outside the Weapons Development Lab, further away from the boxes by the walls, there were a few large prototypes of artillery and several other stacks of finished weapons packed into crates for shipping. High above, the mountain birds were cawing, soaring towards the more distant districts of Colony 9 where residents were just beginning to wake.

“You think it’s safe to test it out here?” Shulk asked.

Fiora headed to the most open space in the Lab's concourse with a smile. “ _You_ designed it. I know I'll be okay.”

"All right, then.” Shulk said, chuckling. “Are you ready?”

Wordlessly, Fiora concentrated on the core set into her chest. The air around it wavered and glowed red for a moment, and suddenly a layer of white metal folded over her form, followed by another, and another, until she had taken on a casing of light, and when she had finished transforming—

Shulk brought a hand to his chin as if appearing thoughtful. “How does it feel to you?”

Fiora had emerged a new person. Her machina suit fitted her body so perfectly that it seemed from the neck down that she was made completely out of metal. Looking over herself, she saw remnants of the old design—a crude exoskeleton fashioned from brownish parts of old machines—but the armor atop it was all new. It was accented with golden lines that, when Fiora looked hard enough, seemed to shine independent of the sunlight. This must have been the ether-infused alloy Shulk had been talking about—a light, silverish metal that both protected vulnerable chinks in the exoskeleton and constantly refueled her by simply being in the open air. Not to mention it also made wearing the suit a lot more comfortable.

“It feels great!” she exclaimed. She turned, leapt, stretched, and ran—all while laughing, completely exhilarated.

“I can see,” Shulk called back, happy to watch her. “And your drones?”

"Oh! Yeah!" She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see them. The drones were hooked to her back where a thin plate of the metal alloy had been attached, and they stuck out at a slight angle like a bird’s wings. “And I just concentrate a little?”

“That’s right,” Shulk answered. “It should be much easier now that I’ve fixed your headgear.”Fiora’s headgear was a visor that, when retracted, looked like she was wearing a broken helmet. However, it had been manufactured in a way that didn’t get in the way of her eyesight and the transmitters fitted into their grooves would be protected from damage and erosion.

Fiora took a breath, imagining the words she’d use to bend the drones to her will. With a mental _push_ , she felt the transmitters buzz—then there was the whirring of the motors, the drones disengaging from her back. They flew around and hovered in front of her; she saw now that they were no longer the faulty light blades that were a part of the old set, but floating mini-cannons already set to fire at her command.

She thought again, and the drones maneuvered back onto her. "They’re amazing! And imagine if I had my dual swords to use! I bet I’d be unstoppable.” She laughed softly. “It's almost like I'm going to be the world's newest superhero, and you're the crazy scientist who's responsible for it."

Shulk headed to her, laughing along. "Maybe not crazy, but if you _are_ going to start training for Smash battling, I thought I’d help make it possible."

"Oh, gosh," Fiora remembered. "That's right! The final Rostering was yesterday, right?"

"Which means entry matches will be open to the public soon,” he replied, “and that you're going to need to start practicing if you want to secure lots of victories."

"Oh," she sighed. "My culinary arts seem to be better than my battle arts, though. And I've also got to take care of Dunban's arm. And make sure Reyn properly hides his vitamin supplements from the Colonel. _When_ will I get time to practice?"

Shulk’s face broke into a broad smile. "Actually, that's the other thing I've got for you.

"Wow,” Fiora gasped. “There’s more? I couldn’t imagine what else you would have done, considering all the time you put on this suit.”

Shulk rubbed the back of his neck. "I will admit, I’d only gotten this by a stroke of luck.”

"So? What is it?"

"The first tourney of the season is the one everyone in Smashworld wants to go to, right? It seems a number of scientists from the weapon development lab don't want to go, so..."

"You're kidding! The kick-off tourney! I'm going to see that?! That’s a once-in a lifetime chance!"

"You, me, Dunban, and Reyn! We'll all get to watch the professionals in the arena for the first time. And on such an important day, too!"

Fiora was dancing on her feet now. "Do they know? Do they have their passes already?"

"Er... no. The passes haven't even arrived at the colony yet."

“Yet?” Fiora frowned at him in confusion for a moment before her eyes suddenly widened with surprise. "You mean you had a vision?"

"Yeah.” Shulk looked askance, thinking. “They're supposed to arrive tomorrow—I know _that_ for sure because I saw you and Reyn coming back from your delivery errands to Colony 6."

Fiora looked up at the sky. A moment of silence passed. "Speaking of Reyn,” she said, “I should probably go wake him now, huh. We've got to leave before noon if we're going to make it to Colony 6 by this evening."

"Go on ahead," he ushered. "And tell Reyn I said hello. I'm just going to clean up in the Lab a bit, since the day crew’s going to be pouring in soon."

Fiora crossed her arms indignantly. "They can clean it on their own, I'm sure. You should be waving us goodbye!"

"I'm waving you goodbye now," Shulk said with a chuckle. "I want to wait until tomorrow to tell everyone the good news, anyway."

"Oh, fine," Fiora said. The core on her chest glowed red again, and she was enveloped in light as she retracted her suit. A few moments later, she was her Homs self again, clothed in the same colony garments she’d worn only minutes before.

Shulk smiled expectantly. “So? Will you keep it?”

"It sure will take some time to get used to that body..." Fiora shook her hair loose of tangles that the suit might have formed. “But yes, Shulk, it’s a keeper.”

Shulk turned to walk back into the lab. "Good. I'll try to catch you and Reyn before you leave. But if I don't, just remember to keep the core clean and to keep a water supply! And don't fall asleep with it on."

"I'll remember. Don't worry!" she called back as Shulk waved to her once more. "And be sure to catch us!" Then, a few steps into her journey back home, she began to hum happily to herself.

 

Shulk had already disappeared behind the door of the lab, heading down to where his room was still in disarray.

"Not as much of a mess as I’d thought, actually,” he said to himself once he’d gotten there, “but where to start…” He headed to the desk, eyes darting across the floor in search of fallen scrap or bits of ether crystals.

He stopped dead in his tracks. A black speck was skittering back and forth across the wood nearby the machine that Fiora’s core had been in not too long ago.

"A bug?" Shulk murmured, leaning closer. He quickly figured it couldn't be a bug. A bug would be trying to wedge itself in warm nooks or cracks, not zipping straight from left to right like it was now.

Regardless, all the delicate machinery was at risk from it, and Shulk needed to get it out. Scanning the shelves, he found a small, dusty jar of nothing. Careful not to knock anything aside, he brought the jar over the bug, and slowly slid it over the side where he blocked the opening with his other hand. Then he walked into the hall, quickening his pace with every step, and used his elbows to work the knob and nudge open the lab entrance.

Stepping outside, he removed his hand and watched the black speck flit a wobbly path out of the jar.

"There," he said, heading back inside and closing the door. "Good thing that wasn’t a caterpillar. Now to get this lab ready for work..." His mind flicked to the Monado on its dais, probably collecting dust at the back of his room. “And, maybe, some well-deserved research."

Outside the lab, the speck had already gone. It had torn through the air, flying upwards, rising until all of Colony 9 was a patch against the mountains of Smashworld. Now it had reached the highest regions of the atmosphere, where more particles like it were materializing. Soon a small splotch of black had formed in the air, and a sudden _buzz_ rippled through it, bringing it to life with a violent shudder. As it spun, it grew ever-larger still, the buzzing increasing in might, until finally it had become a raucous whirlwind of festering blackness.

Then, without another passing moment, it flew, racing through the skies of Smashworld, roaring and bellowing with the might of a swarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as Face!Fiora is a spoilerific trophy in Smash WiiU with an equally spoilerific description, I thought an alternative explanation to her mechanic body would simply prevent the need for warnings.  
> Also... now that I'm in college, I'll try to be regular about posting... I've been gone so long because I've been working on fleshing out the rest of the story. But I am so thankful to everyone who's given support over the past year that this fanfic has been in existence! THANK YOU.


	16. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It is a mighty thing, seeing the burgeoning of the continents—the old trinity of Elibe, Archanea, and Tellius—over many years. But I believe it is a mightier thing to see what power one has to tear them all down in the span of an hour."  
> —the late Marquess Eliwood, written in a journal recovered from the War of Centuries.

The moment Palutena had warped back onto the grounds of the Temple she saw that patches of the earth below her were already turning dark. She wasn't sure if she wanted to believe her eyes—after all, she _had_ been working all night at the Palace—but there was no denying that the Swarm really was spreading much quicker than she'd hoped.

Exhaustion weighed her down as she sighed. Her only thought was to question how this morning could be so calm. The sky overhead was awash in lazy dusk, and the light of the newly-risen sunrays were soft, having settled over the curves of the Temple’s chiseled stone. If Palutena closed her eyes, she could pick out the quivering breaths of every single creature that had opened its eyes to prepare for dawn. She could see the shimmering curtains of energy—of _being_ —intertwining in their eternal dance through the atmosphere.

She felt at peace for a moment—but then everywhere she looked she saw fire ripping through the underbrush. Magnificent golems roaring, pummeling the earth with their footsteps. Darkness swarming the sky slowly, menacingly, then all at once with their terrible might.

The visions were too much. She blinked away.

None of it had happened. Not yet, anyway—the morning was still calm, and life still teemed across the land. But now her mind was alive with festering questions. What if there was something greater than the tenebrous swarm? What if that something was so powerfully indefatigable there was no use fighting? Or, if she and the smashers did eventually win, would every cantle of Smashworld be ravaged by then? How long would it be until Smashworld fell? How much time did she have left to act? How long could she delay their fate?

Then she breathed deeply—not an intake of air, but the very breath of morning itself, its magic rejuvenating her with freshness and life. The cosmos swirled about her and she welcomed its power into her veins. For a moment, she _Saw_ all the universe as a grand stage, and she knew herself to play just one part. But her cue was calling, and it was time for her to deliver her lines. Today, she would act, and Smashworld would strike back.

Hearing a low murmuring from behind her, Palutena woke from her dreaming and turned to see a group of smashers calling to her. As they came from the shadows clustered between the Temple's pillars, she focused her eyesight and recognized the faces of Fox, Samus, and Zelda. Each of them seemed unkempt and grim-faced.

Palutena’s instantaneous teleportation to them was gaudier than usual; she showered the air with small fireworks of magic, and they jolted their eyes open, shaking their heads in alertness. "Hello," she greeted, smiling grandly. By Zelda's feet she noticed the air had vibrated for a moment—a shiver of magic—but, instead, she raised an eyebrow at the group. "You’ve brought others, Princess? What’s got them up so early?"

The smashers shifted a little on their feet. Samus gestured to Zelda with a tilt of her head. "Princess Zelda told us she was going to have an audience with you, and Fox and I had something to ask about…"

Samus then shared a glance with Fox, who nodded slowly and cleared his throat, frowning. "Right. While you were gone, goddess, I relayed a little summary about our trouble to the stations up above."

"You… managed to send something?" Palutena questioned.

“Reinforcements _should_ be arriving soon," answered Fox. Then he lowered his head. “But… as soon as I heard ‘we’ll do what we can,’ everything was static, static, and more static.” He offered a small, defeated shrug. “I haven’t heard anything since.”

“I was with him sending alert reports to the Hive Citadel and all the other branches when that happened,” Samus continued. “All of it’s down. The Grid, the aether-net—we’re going to have to send physical messengers. Who knows how long that’ll take?”

“Not long,” Palutena answered, shaking her head. “Protection is of the utmost priority, and we’re going to have to act soon if we’re to move Smashworld’s population to safety."

“We’re moving the entire land somewhere safe?” Fox asked incredulously.

Palutena shook her head. “Why, that would both be risky _and_ a waste of resources. We’ve got to focus efforts on saving the land first. But we’re well aware now that many places are affected, and innocent lives are in danger as we speak.”

“Our conquest seeks to cleanse the land and repair the damage as quickly and efficiently as possible,” Zelda said. “We have vehicles, and we have plenty more air power. It would not hurt to devote some of them to evacuation.”

“Ah, yes. Speaking of repairing damage,” said Palutena, “What have you found, Zelda?”

Zelda replied slowly: “There are several breaks in the world’s magistructure. I’ve marked them for you in the Halberd's holographic map. None of them, so far, are much of a threat—if we hurry, we can close them.” She shook her head gravely. “However, right where the gate to the Coliseum is, I cannot sense anything. It is as if a chasm has opened up.”

"I see," Palutena said. "So we might not have a terribly rough time going about this…” She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “And, er, I’ve noticed you’ve been working a spell for a while. What have you got behind you?"

Without a word, Zelda stepped aside, her hand glowing with an electric aura. A rigid shape of light materialized where the air had been shivering. After a few moments, the light dissipated, and there in the midst of a smashers was a robot, its sleek hull crackling with what seemed to be a magical paralysis.

Palutena gasped upon recognizing it. “It’s a R.O.B.?”

Zelda nodded. “It’s _our_ R.O.B.”

The robot she had paralyzed was twitching, limbs shivering with hydraulic pressure—just like a frightened animal in captivity, Palutena thought—and it was positioned as if it had been caught at the moment of some wild attack.

“I sensed a disturbance in the temple,” said Zelda. “Besides my surprise at seeing it here, I’d also observed that it was acting rather unlike itself. So I woke Lucario, who confirmed this is the R.O.B. we’d saved from the Isle of the Ancients. Lucario also intuited that there was a nervousness in spirit about it.” She paused with uncertainty. “I caught it the moment it realized it was being watched.”

"But look at it," Palutena protested. "R.O.B. deserves more civility than… well, looking like a captured animal. Surely you had a good reason to resort to this?"

“Princess Zelda let it go in front of us before we came here,” said Samus. She knit her eyebrows pensively. “Then it… lunged at her. At all of us.”

"I feel bad about having to do this to R.O.B,, really," Fox added. "But something’s going on here."

Palutena’s gaze rested on the three smashers for a moment, then, with a sigh, she set her eyes on R.O.B. Her irises shone blue, and her vision pulsed, revealing R.O.B.’s glowing vitality to her.

Or, rather, the lack of vitality. Palutena found its aura a tattered mess—seamy, blackish, stained by a shadow that clung to its light. “You’re right,” she said softly. “Something _is_ going on here. Something...” With a push of her will, she buried herself deeper, hoping to find what sort of malicious enchantment was written in the essence of R.O.B.’s being. The answer she found seconds later was very clearly engraved: _GO BACK **DARKNESS** VILIFY ALL RISE MUST BE WILL MIRROR REFLECT REAL DENIGRATE HATE GO BACK GO **BACK**_ —

“Something horrible,” Palutena murmured.

“What?” said the other smashers, surprised at her distraught look.

“There’s—how do I put this—the same kind of darkness as the Swarm, but it’s not blocking R.O.B.’s aura. It’s like there’s something— _more_ , something ingrained. Like an erosion at the very deepest level.” She narrowed her eyes. “Where would R.O.B. have been to get attacked like this?”

“R.O.B. works with the committee and competes as a hobby,” said Samus. “And since yesterday was Rostering Day, it was definitely busy.”

“So you’re saying it’s a survivor of the Coliseum?” said Palutena. A new vigor overcame her expression. “Then we’ve got to—”

And in that moment there was a blast of energy that knocked Zelda back, and in the next moment she and everyone else realized that R.O.B. had broken free of its magical hold.

“Quick!” yelled Fox. “After it!”

The robot’s blasters had already carried it far from the group of smashers, and its movement treads were now spinning at top speed. It was fleeing!

Fox dashed forward to close the distance, and he was quickly joined by Palutena riding forth on solar winds. The two of them began to chase R.O.B., heading for the edge of the Temple’s island.

Samus had stayed behind to help Zelda to her feet. Zelda, shaking the dizziness from her head, saw a shadow dash round the Temple pillars and across the grounds. “What…” she said, thinking it had been imaginary, but she blinked quickly—the shadow was heading straight for Palutena. “Wait!” she yelled. “Stop!”

But, in a quick flash of fire, Palutena was struck into darkness.

* * *

 

In Palutena’s unconsciousness, her spirit finds herself in the aurora of magic. It is not the flow of her own fantastical dreaming, but the flow of a collective unconscious, the flow of potential. It hides just beneath the surface of magical energies humming in the earth, vibrating in the air—for magic is a _will_ , in and of itself—and the aurora exists as _is_. She knows the aurora well, all its swirling colors and its endless depth. She knows that here, she is present, and she is past, and she is future, and she is now. It is here that she can feel the burning energies of the other divinities working their magic, taking what is potential and turning into what was, what is, what will be. _Not that many other celestials can see magic work like this_ , she thinks. Her thoughts become sound echoing an infinite number of times in the curtains of light before disappearing all at once.

She steps forward. The great washes of color sweep with her, reacting to the radiance of her will. She figures it is not going to be long before she is pulled through the astral seas and taken back to her conscious time. So she searches the aurora, stretching across the magic of time and of space in the eternity of a second, until she finds another soul wandering freely just like her.

The aurora has faded to a sinister hum around her. _Hello,_ she greets. _You must be Ganondorf._

“Ah, the goddess of Light. It’s so nice to meet you,” is the instant reply she perceives, but does not hear. The colors around her shiver with an ominous violet flare. “Even though I already know I hate you.”

She is unfazed. _I know the hatred that resides in you is only corporeal. I know what you are._

“My, my, goddess Palutena, what threatening jabs in your spirit. Careful, I’m just a consciousness. I’m awfully fragile.”

_Triforce of Power._ Her demeanor is suddenly much more stentorian. _I regret to say I’m only here because Courage and Wisdom haven’t given me the answers I need, and so I have inquiries for you. But I won’t hesitate to turn them to demands._

“Fine, fine. Supremacy wins. You came to ask about the little invasion of Smashworld?”

_If you can lend a helping hand._

The aurora ripples with violet once more, but the color is weak and desaturated. “Why would I know anything? Just because I can see all that _is_ doesn’t mean I actively look. Besides, the great Aether still have me by the throat. If I were caught anywhere near darkness...” There is a thundering roar from somewhere far off, but at the same time it booms dangerously close. “Speak of the powers that be. To be honest, Pally—”

_I’d prefer we stay formal._

“You’re right. That’s much too vulgar. How does ‘Lulu’ sound? I like it better.” The lights of the aurora swell in eerie silence. “In any case, I don’t see anything happening here. Do you?”

Palutena looks, but around her she sees no darkness. No great will pushing against all the others. Just the regular ebb and flow of magic.

_Not here._

“Then, if the here and now shows nothing, the rest doesn’t matter. You _could_ consider what you see as nothing to worry about.”

There’s an expectancy conveyed to Palutena that makes her rethink her conclusion. She looks around her again, seeing nothing different. _But… what if—_ Then she gets an idea. She races up, looks beyond what she sees, perceiving the movement of the magic of reality itself.

It is then that she sees the great Darkness thrashing, all that is Not, all of Nothing clawing at _Being_ —clawing at her and screaming **BEGONE** —

* * *

 

And with a start, Palutena awoke.

In her blurry vision, she saw traces of the aurora trailing rainbows out of her perception. Someone else’s thoughts echoed in her head— _now you get it_ —before fading away to nothing.

Her divine senses told her she was somewhere in the main room of the Temple, which was a spacious ring of pillars capped by a smooth dome. She felt cool marble against her back, and heard the soft pulsations of magic. She realized she was by the very center of the room, where there sat a large and wide reflecting pool.

She groaned. “Who… how?”

A few agonizing seconds of silence later Zelda cried, “Goddess Palutena!”

Elsewhere in the room an unrecognizable voice, decidedly boisterous and male, was screaming: “You fiends! You don’t know what you’re doing! Let—let me gooo _OOOOO—_ ”

The end of his plead had shifted into a roar, jolting Palutena to full consciousness.

She stood slowly, finding herself in good health despite the attack, and smiled at the concerned faces of Fox and Zelda nearing her. “I’m all right, both of you. I’ve suffered worse than a small headache.”

“You’re lucky all you have is a headache,” Fox responded. “It took a lot to tie these guys down.”

Palutena began to walk away from Fox and Zelda, looking in the direction the primal voice had come from. “Tie who down?”

She saw Samus with both arms outstretched, dual-wielding what looked to be small blaster guns, electric sparks dancing over their rifles. Below her were two live trophies on the floor. R.O.B was wrapped in a faint elastic bonding. Next to him, similarly restrained, was a young, red-haired man dressed in a white tunic. A sword in its sheath lay far away from him.

“Tie _them_ down,” Samus grunted.

Palutena examined both of their auras—R.O.B.’s was still the same blotch of darkness, but the boy next to it was damaged and stained just the same. Gesturing to him, Palutena asked, “Who is this?”

“He was the one who knocked you out cold,” Samus answered. “Gee. I never thought I’d see him _and_ R.O.B. at the same time, much less like this.”

“Ah,” replied Palutena. The boy had fallen into a catatonic silence. “You know him?”

Samus nodded. “From a long time ago. Fox and Zelda—they know him too. His name’s… his name’s Roy. He came from the Lands Beyond…”

“He traveled here before the War of Centuries,” Zelda said, realizing Samus was at a loss for words. She strided over to where Samus was stationed, continuing her recollection: “The Hylian Royal Family knew them. His father was a grand marquess of Pherae—but when the war began, the family traveled back and left Roy behind.” She lowered her head. “As you might have guessed, Roy is the only one left.”

“Is that so?” Palutena said. “Roy… I’ve seen him around the committee before. I don’t exactly _know_ him—he must be a bit secretive…”

“Not really,” Samus said, shrugging lightly. “He came to the Second Rostering. Why, I don’t know—to show his support for Smashworld, I guess—but he figured out after a few matches he wasn’t much of a fighter. The committee enlisted him for ambassador work instead, and he’s been there ever since.”

Palutena heard distant footsteps making their way to the room, but did not acknowledge it. She cleared her throat, giving Samus a nod. “You can stop using your paralyzers. If they try to escape, don’t hold yourself back.”

Samus furrowed her brows with consternation, then withdrew her weapons. At once the electricity stopped flowing through the captured smashers. In their stone-faced and drained silence, they did nothing.

Palutena offered a smile. “Well, then. It seems you’ve tired yourselves out.” She looked to the red-haired boy, noticing now that he had several unhealed abrasions to his face and arms. “What’s ailing you, Roy?”

Roy declined to meet her gaze, but his voice burst from him as a deluge: “N-n-nothing is wrong— _ha ha_ —your light you’re god over _nothing_ this world belongs to this world this belongs world to—” and he fell into a discordant mumble, twitching eyes fixated on the ground.

The goddess sighed, seeing his body had fallen languid. She was sure now that something had latched onto his mind, dark and evil in its intentions. But Roy’s affliction wasn’t a case of mind control; if it were something so simple, his very life force wouldn’t look as wretched as it did now. And what of the shadows—the fast-spreading swarm—that had done this to him? To R.O.B.? To, perhaps, the rest of the committee? To what would be countless others?

“Goddess Palutena!”

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen into a trance until Meta Knight’s sudden voice snapped her out of it. She turned. “Yes?”

She saw the round swordsman alighting on the ground next to her, and behind him there came Lucario and Marth. Samus and Zelda nodded to them reservedly as they neared the captives on the ground. Palutena figured the three smashers must have been whom she heard walking down the hallways earlier.

Marth’s expression was troubled as he looked over R.O.B. and Roy. “Gods… it really is them.”

“I’d heard these two launched an attack?” Meta Knight questioned.

“Two,” Fox, having remained by the fountain, answered without turning to him. “I mean there were two separate attacks. We stopped one from just R.O.B., but when Roy showed up…”

Lucario’s eyes flashed yellow. “I know of the robot’s plight. The boy—he seems to be afflicted with the same corruption.”

“What?” Meta Knight exclaimed. “What corruption?”

“Someone… some _thing_ stained their aura,” said Palutena. “I’m positive that’s why they were both being so hostile. Your senses of aura are much more nuanced than mine, Lucario. Do you think there’s any way to lift the darkness?”

Lucario lifted both his paws, blue flares of aura dancing across them, and for the next few moments the room flooded with silence, diluted by stray sounds—the gentle pulses of the reflecting pool and Roy’s staccato murmurings, sometimes accented by R.O.B.’s tremulous whirs.

Meta Knight stepped forward. “So?”

The pokémon shifted his stance slightly. The aura kindling around his paws ceased to flow. “I… haven’t seen anything quite like this. Their auras are… ruined. Whatever evil has gotten them has seeped so deeply that the very constructions of their beings are becoming undone.”

“My Wisdom had sensed as such as well,” said Zelda. “Are… are you saying that they’re a lost cause?”

A somberness bruited through the other smashers, some of them lowering their heads sadly—except for Marth, who had refused to accept the idea. “Wait, wait!” he said, stepping forward with conviction. “Something has to be done! You can’t mean we have to leave them like this?”

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Samus said. “The damage is done!”

“She’s right,” Palutena said sadly. “We’d have to suspend them. If only time could—” Suddenly her face lit up, and the other smashers looked to her expectantly. “Wait! The Rewind Spring! We can revert them to an earlier state!”

Meta Knight tilted his head. “I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”

“Is it?” Marth asked.

Palutena nodded. “It is. I’ve seen it work. If I could just…” She waved her arm and her staff appeared in her hand. She traced a wide arc with the head of her staff, focusing magic into its sphere, until all at once a stream of golden light poured forth, spiraling round the great reflecting pool. With another wave of the staff the light suffused with the water, leaving in its wake an adumbration—or, perhaps, a direct reflection—of an otherworldly darkness. Dusky clouds smelling of death wafted upwards into the Temple air.

Some of the smashers faltered in their stances as the pool began to ripple with faint, but unsettling, whispers and murmurs. “What are you doing?” Samus questioned.

“A little bit of cheating,” she said as she Indexed her staff. “Careful, though. The underworld is already angry enough with me as it is, so the magic won’t channel into the water for long, and it’s rather potent. Now—” and her hands rose and fell, glowing, orchestrating a stream of the water towards the two captives. They immediately recoiled in the very presence of the magic, writhing away as if suddenly cognizant of the cleansing that would happen next.

“Wait!” Lucario warned. “They might attack!”

“Quick!” Fox yelled. “Hold them down!”

R.O.B. screeched adamantly, the red light above its head rapidly blinking in terror. Roy, too, struggled against his bonds, a gritty threat seeping from him in a language that, while it sounded like the universal Kythid, felt like it belonged to something Other. None of the smashers could understand the words.

Samus cocked the blasters in each of her hands, ready to fire. “Should I shoot?”

“No!” cried Palutena. “Just make sure they don’t break free.” All the other smashers then ran to Roy and R.O.B., using their combined efforts to hold them still. Palutena, still casting her magic, fanned the water into a fine mist, and carefully guided it over the two possessed smashers’ heads.

As the water fell on them there came a calm, and a great influx of energy swelled over their forms, bright combustions of magic alight. The other smashers fell back, waiting for the magic to subside, and there was only the sound of muffled burning, until all the energy had faded.

R.O.B. fluttered the shutters of its lens and turned its head slowly.

Roy, with all his battle wounds healed and his aura fully restored, blinked his eyes. “I… Where am I?”

Palutena, redolent of all the radiance of the sun, laughed. “Welcome back.” In the next moment the smashers crowding around sighed with relief, some of them even smiling, and they came forward to help their newly-restored allies off the ground.

“Where am I?” Roy, still dazed, attempted once more.

“You’re safe and sound is where you are,” Samus said.

Marth’s eyes widened. “Marquess Roy. You’re… how do you feel?”

Roy smiled weakly, apparently recognizing him. “Prince Marth? Has something happened?” He looked down at his restraints and gasped. “And—and what’s the meaning of this?!”

“Why, I think the both of them are rational again,” said Lucario.

Fox immediately went to undo the bonds on R.O.B. and Roy, saying, “Right. That should do it.” Then he retrieved the sword that had been on the ground far away and handed it to Roy.

“My sword?” Roy said, Indexing the weapon. “Why…”

R.O.B’s movement treads whirred to life, carrying it forward slightly, then forward a little more, and then it began buzzing with an incoherent crackling and whirring so loudly that the smashers near it drew back in surprise.

“What is it?” asked Zelda, seeing Roy searching the ground near him fervently.

“R.O.B.’s communicator,” Roy replied. “It seems to have lost it.”

“You mean, a way for it to speak with us?” Samus asked.

“Yes, yes, it was a recent development,” Roy muttered. “It’s a, uh, a large, red node—it’s built of a sort of special wire material that lets R.O.B. use it from its Index.”

“Interesting,” Meta Knight commented. “But, unfortunately, I haven’t found anything of the sort. What of you lot?” He turned himself round with a flap of his wings.

“I don’t recall sighting anything like it,” Lucario said.

“I haven’t seen it either,” Zelda added. “And I can assure you that I would have noticed something large fall from R.O.B.’s chassis.”

“Must have been lost on its way here,” Samus mused. “Or maybe even lost in the attack on the Coliseum.”

Roy arched a brow. “I’m sorry? Did something happen at the Coliseum?” He blinked. ”Is… is that why we’re here in the sky?”

There was a stunned silence. “You mean—you mean you don’t remember anything?” Fox asked with obvious hesitation.

“I—I’m sorry, I really am, but…”

“Roy,” Marth said softly, as if thinking something over in his head. “What were you doing before you woke up here?”

“I was…” Roy began. “I was readying for Rostering Day—I was going to be with the welcome party at the forefront—and then I must have… um…” He lingered for a moment. “I must have… stolen a nap, or something of the like…”

Palutena quietly waved her hand to dispel the magic over the reflecting pool. “Is the same true for R.O.B.? Was it also working at the committee?”

Roy looked at the robot and shrugged lamely. “I believe so. R.O.B. was probably put on a higher tier of work. Why?” His expression showed worry. “Was there some sort of emergency evacuation? What happened?”

The other smashers looked among themselves with hesitation. They fell into a loose circle, speaking in low whispers to each other:

“Goddess, this can’t be what you meant by ‘rewind’?” Marth challenged.

“If you had any ounce of logic,” Zelda answered stiffly, “returning to an earlier state _would_ mean that their memories suffer the same fate.”

“…That’s not what I meant.”

“The problem isn’t what you _meant_ —”

“Ease yourselves,” Palutena admonished sharply. “And, Prince Marth, I’m quite aware that this does, ah, ironically set us back, but we must be adaptable.”

Marth cleared his throat. "I apologize for the rashness. I should say that I'd been thinking that the other members of the committee might be doing the same thing Marquess Roy and R.O.B. tried to do."

Lucario frowned. “So what do you propose we do, Goddess?”

“The two of them could always join the fighting force,” Samus suggested, "now that we've found more things on our plate to deal with."

“Or maybe they still have some intel about the Coliseum,” said Fox.

Meta Knight shook his head. “But that means we’d have to explain the situation to them, and we’ve already lost a lot of time this morning.”

“Hmmm. My senses tell me it’s still hours before noon. I suppose if we multitask from here on out,” Palutena said, folding her arms, “we won’t have lost any time at all. Let's have them caught up to date and, Zelda, I'll need your help strategizing our list of priorities.”

"As you see fit," Zelda agreed.

“All right,” Marth said, somewhat haughty. “I’ll tell them what they’ve missed as we move.”

Roy and R.O.B. had been watching in stunned silence all the while. When the smashers disbanded, Palutena beckoned for the two of them to join the group. R.O.B. raised its arm-levers as if readying for action. Roy stood up, sweeping dust off his garments. “I assume we’re to receive heavy news in the following minutes,” he said, somewhat saddened.

Palutena replied with a reassuring smile. “Come along this way,” she said. “We’ve got to outfit you both for the long day ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've missed you all!  
> Here's a quick recap of everything that's happened so far, in the morning after the Rostering Day that would go so wrong:  
> > Viridi has sent Dark Pit out to... save plants?  
> > Robin and Lucina near ever closer to the Coliseum in a heroic search of Chrom, unaware that it and everything in it has disappeared off the face of the known earth.  
> > Shulk works in the Lab after he's spent some time with Fiora and her new ultra-cool machina suit.  
> > After being time-hacked out of super evil corruption, Roy and R.O.B. are (maybe?) down to clown
> 
> Also..... I'm aware Cloud Strife is a character on the roster now too (it sure broke my limit), but what worries me more is that December direct coming up soon...


	17. <changelog>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing here except notes on revisions to the story and such. Mostly because ao3 has no way of telling if I update a chapter (which includes this one), so...  
> This'll always be at the end of the work, and will be updated accurately!

UPDATE: April 2015

  * Wrote a prologue. Other Xenoblade Chronicles characters confirmed to be part of the universe, and Melia is the author of the story.



**Chapter 1**

  * Added stuff, took stuff out of beginning. Changed some minor details. Inserted some bad puns.
  * Overall, a huge change.
  * Wordcount: 4815 -> 5573
  * edit: tweaked words a little.



**Chapter 2**

  * Very few changes aside from rewriting the first half of Ike and Link's first interchange.
  * Subtle changes to Ike's character, maybe.
  * Word count is now 5886 from... something less.



**Chapter 3**

  * PART A: Edited some of the opening exposition, changed dialogue to make Pit and Ike more bitter with each other off the bat.
  * PART B: Dialogue added to beginning. Italicized/present tense any visions or projections from now on. Small details changed throughout.
  * PART C: Veeeeeeery small changes.
  * Overall WC change 10121 ->11244 (wow, I didn't realize this chapter was so long)



**Chapter 4**

  * Added dialogue. I think this chapter's solid otherwise.
  * WC change: 5279 - > 5532



**Intermission I / Chapter 5**

  * Unchanged. There's not much else I can do with it at the moment ^q^)b



**Chapter 6**

  * Part A: Changed dialogue again to reflect earlier changes in chapters 2-3. Still not sure if I should come back to this later, but...
  * Part B: The only things changed here were in the Marth/Meta Knight interchange and in Palutena's revisit to the Palace.
  * Overall WC Change: 5646 -> 6065



**Intermission II**

  * Changed the end, which was in my backlog of things to revise anyway. 
  * Nothing major, just small details that were kind of written weird to me.



**Chapter 7**

  * Added! I feel like I'll come back to fix it, though it's written a bit like Chapter 5...



 

UPDATE: July 2015

  *          Another re-haul is in the works, but I want to add a few chapters before I update everything so… (shrugs)
  *          Or I might edit some chapters slowly. I’ve been working on-and-off with story development since April.
  *          Also added Chapter 8!



 

 

 UPDATE: August-Early September 2015

  * Re-haul started.



**Chapter 1**

  * Small dialogue changes here and there
  * BIG dialogue change in the middle
  * This chapter gets longer the more I work on it, huh.
  * WC 5573 -> 6569



**Chapter 2**

  * More fixes on Link's dialogue.
  * Added extra Zelda scenes.
  * Marth is now salty.
  * WC 5886 -> 7263



**Chapter 3.1-3.3**

  * More tweaking Link's dialogue.
  * Added a lot of extra scenes
  * I'm sorry Link I didn't mean to put you everywhere
  * Overall WC 11244 -> 13094



** Chapter 4 **

  * Fixed Marth/Zelda/Peach dialogue to reflect changes in Chapter 2
  * Added some extra dialogue between Dedede and Palutena
  * WC 5532 -> 6241



**Chapter 5**

  * Small addition of reflection from Lucina
  * Some other fixes



**Chapter 6.1 / 6.2**

  * Fixed dialogue / POV of blond sword dude with the triforce
  * Other little fixes
  * WC 6065 -> 6394



**Chapter 7**

  * Fixed some tiny stuff. Inconsequential to the chapter overall.



**Chapter 8**

  * Small fixes.



**Chapter 9**

  * Added.



**Intermission I / II**

  * Little details fixed. Also inconsequential.
  * Intermission II is untouched, actually



 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is appreciated!


End file.
